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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT 


Ci)e  §>ong  of  tf)e  Cardinal 


**COME  HERE!  COME  HERE!"  ENTREATED  THE  CARDINAL 


>ong  of  fyt  Cardinal 


BY 


dSene 


AUTHOR  OF 

FRECKLES,"  "A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST, 
"THE  HARVESTER,"  "LADDIE,"  ETC., 


NEW  AND  REFISED  EDITION 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

IQ22 


Copyright,  1903,  /pod,  /p/5,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,  P,\GE   &  COMPANY 


QL 


IN  LOVING  TRIBUTE 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  FATHER 

MARK  STRATTON 


"For  him  every  work  of  God  manifested  a 
new  and  hereto/ore  unappreciated  loveliness" 


945859 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"Come  here!  Come  here!"  entreated  the  cardinal    .       Frontispiece 

Page 
"  He  rocked  on  the  orange  branches  and  sang  over  his  message 

of  encouragement  to  men  " Facing  page  j 

"  She  chose  her  location,  with  the  eye  of  an  artist "   .  e 

"  The  heat  and  closeness  of  the  Limberlost  seemed  a  prison  well 

escaped  " 13 

"  He  kept  on  calling  for  rain  " 3 1 

"  He  sunned  himself,  fluffed  and  flirted  " ,j 

"The  Wabash  circled  Horse-shoe  Bend  in  a  silver  flood"   . 

"  He  sang  to  her  a  soft,  little,  whispered  love  song  way  down  in 

his  throat" fa 

"  With  tender,  throaty  murmurings  he  slowly  edged  nearer  "    .  -- 

Clear  and  imperious  arose  the  demand  of  the  cardinal,  "  Come 

here!"  "Come  here!" 83 

"  She  turned  adoring  eyes  to  the  cardinal " o^ 

"  She  was  not  much  of  an  architect " „ 

"  Time  was  when  trees  and  underbrush  were  full  of  birds  and 

squirrels" IO- 

"  The  male  baby  was  a  perfect  copy  of  his  big,  crimson  father  "  jjj 

"  Each  man  has  his  pertic'lar  altar.     Mine's  in  that  cabin  at  the 

bend  of  the  river  " j^I 

"  He  climbed  to  the  edge  of  the  nest  and  reached  so  far  that  he 

fell" 141 


HE    ROCKED    ON    THE    ORANGE    BRANCHES    AND    SANG    OVER    HIS 
MESSAGE    OF    ENCOURAGEMENT   TO    MEN" 


"  Good  cheer  I    Good  cheer  /  "  exulted  the  Cardinal 


He  darted  through  the  orange 
orchard  searching  for  slugs 
for  his  breakfast,  and  be 
tween  whiles  he  rocked  on 
the  branches  and  rang  over 
his  message  of  encourage 
ment  to  men.  The  song  of 
the  Cardinal  was  overflowing 
with  joy,  for  this  was  his 
holiday,  his  playtime.  The 
southern  world  was  rilled 
with  brilliant  sunshine,  gaudy 
flowers,  an  abundance  of  fruit,  myriads  of  insects, 
and  never  a  thing  to  do  except  to  bathe,  feast,  and 
be  happy.  No  wonder  his  song  was  a  prophecy  of  good 
cheer  for  the  future,  for  happiness  made  up  the  whole  of 
his  past. 

The  Cardinal  was  only  a  yearling,  yet  his  crest  flared 
high,  his  beard  was  crisp  and  black,  and  he  was  a  very 

T 


C6e    §ong    of   t&e    Caroinal 

prodigy  in  size  and  colouring.  Fathers  of  his  family  that 
had  accomplished  many  migrations  appeared  small  beside 
him,  and  coats  that  had  been  shed  season  after  season 
seemed  dull  compared  with  his.  It  was  as  if  a  pulsing 
heart  of  flame  passed  by  when  he  came  winging  through 
the  orchard. 

Last  season  the  Cardinal  had  pipped  his  shell,  away  to 
the  north,  in  that  paradise  of  the  birds,  the  Limberlost. 
There  thousands  of  acres  of  black  marsh-muck  stretch 
under  summers'  sun  and  winters'  snows.  There  are 
darksome  pools  of  murky  water,  bits  of  swale,  and  high 
morass.  Giants  of  the  forest  reach  skyward,  or,  coated 
with  velvet  slime,  lie  decaying  in  sun-flecked  pools,  while 
the  underbrush  is  almost  impenetrable. 

The  swamp  resembles  a  big  dining-table  for  the  birds. 
Wild  grape-vines  clamber  to  the  tops  of  the  highest  trees, 
spreading  umbrella-wise  over  the  branches,  and  their 
festooned  floating  trailers  wave  as  silken  fringe  in  the  play 
of  the  wind.  The  birds  loll  in  the  shade,  peel  bark, 
gather  dried  curlers  for  nest  material,  and  feast  on  the 
pungent  fruit.  They  chatter  in  swarms  over  the  wild- 
cherry  trees,  and  overload  their  crops  with  red  haws,  wild 
plums,  papaws,  blackberries  and  mandrake.  The  alders 
around  the  edge  draw  flocks  in  search  of  berries,  and  the 

2 


C&e   ©on0   of   t&e   (XatDtnal 

marsh  grasses  and  weeds  are  weighted  with  seed  hunters. 
The  muck  is  alive  with  worms;  and  the  whole  swamp 
ablaze  with  flowers,  whose  colours  and  perfumes  attract 
myriads  of  insects  and  butterflies. 

Wild  creepers  flaunt  their  red  and  gold  from  the  tree- 
tops,  and  the  bumblebees  and  humming-birds  make 
common  cause  in  rifling  the  honey-laden  trumpets.  The 
air  around  the  wild-plum  and  red-haw  trees  is  vibrant 
with  the  beating  wings  of  millions  of  wild  bees,  and  the 
bee-birds  feast  to  gluttony.  The  fetid  odours  of  the 
swamp  draw  insects  in  swarms,  and  fly-catchers  tumble 
and  twist  in  air  in  pursuit  of  them. 

Every  hollow  tree  homes  its  colony  of  bats.  Snakes 
sun  on  the  bushes.  The  water  folk  leave  trails  of  shining 
ripples  in  their  wake  as  they  cross  the  lagoons.  Turtles 
waddle  clumsily  from  the  logs.  Frogs  take  graceful  leaps 
from  pool  to  pool.  Everything  native  to  that  section  of 
the  country — underground,  creeping,  or  a-wing — can  be 
found  in  the  Limberlost;  but  above  all  it  is  the  chosen 
habitation  of  the  birds. 

Dainty  green  warblers  nest  in  its  tree- tops,  and  red- 
eyed  vireos  choose  a  location  below.  It  is  the  home  of 
bell-birds,  finches,  and  thrushes.  There  are  flocks  of 
blackbirds,  grackles,  and  crows.  Jays  and  catbirds  quar- 

3 


C&e   §ong   of   t&e   Cardinal 

rel  constantly,  and  marsh-wrens  keep  up  never-ending 
chatter.  Orioles  swing  their  pendent  purses  from  the 
branches,  and  with  the  tanagers  picnic  on  mulberries 
and  insects.  In  the  evening,  night-hawks  dart  on  silent 
wing;  whippoorwills  set  up  a  plaintive  cry  that  they  con 
tinue  far  into  the  night;  and  owls  revel  in  moonlight  and 
rich  hunting.  At  dawn,  robins  wake  the  echoes  of  each 
new  day  with  the  admonition,  "Cheer  up!  Cheer  up!" 
and  a  little  later  big  black  vultures  go  wheeling  through 
cloudland  or  hang  there,  like  frozen  splashes,  searching 
the  Limberlost  and  the  surrounding  country  for  food.  The 
boom  of  the  bittern  resounds  all  day,  and  above  it  the 
rasping  scream  of  the  blue  heron,  as  he  strikes  terror  to 
the  hearts  of  frogdom;  while  the  occasional  cries  of  a  lost 
loon,  strayed  from  its  flock  in  northern  migration,  fill  the 
swamp  with  sounds  of  wailing. 

Flashing  through  the  tree-tops  of  the  Limberlost  there 
are  birds  whose  colour  is  more  brilliant  than  that  of  the 
gaudiest  flower  lifting  its  face  to  light  and  air.  The  lilies 
of  the  mire  are  not  so  white  as  the  white  herons  that  fish 
among  them.  The  ripest  spray  of  goldenrod  is  not  so 
highly  coloured  as  the  burnished  gold  on  the  breast  of  the 
oriole  that  rocks  on  it.  The  jays  are  bluer  than  the  cal 
amus  bed  they  wrangle  above  with  throaty  chatter.  The 

4 


"SHE  CHOSE  HER  LOCATION  WITH  THE  EYE  OF  AN  ARTIST 


'C6e   ^cng   of   t&e   CatDfttal 

finches  are  a  finer  purple  than  the  ironwort.  For  every 
clump  of  foxfire  flaming  in  the  Limberlost,  there  is  a  car 
dinal  glowing  redder  on  a  bush  above  it.  These  may  not 
be  more  numerous  than  other  birds,  but  their  brilliant 
colouring  and  the  fearless  disposition  that  keep  them 
forever  hi  evidence  make  them  seem  so. 

The  Cardinal  was  hatched  in  a  thicket  of  sweetbrier 
and  blackberry.  His  father  was  a  tough  old  widower  of 
many  experiences  and  variable  temper.  He  was  the  big 
gest,  most  aggressive  redbird  in  the  Limberlost,  and 
easily  reigned  king  of  his  kind.  Catbirds,  king-birds,  and 
shrikes  gave  him  a  wide  berth,  and  not  even  the  ever- 
quarrelsome  jays  plucked  up  enough  courage  to  antag 
onize  him.  A  few  days  after  his  latest  bereavement,  he 
saw  a  fine,  plump  young  female;  and  she  so  filled  his  eye 
that  he  gave  her  no  rest  until  she  permitted  his  caresses, 
and  carried  the  first  twig  to  the  wild  rose.  She  was  very 
proud  to  mate  with  the  king  of  the  Limberlost;  and  if 
deep  in  her  heart  she  felt  transient  fears  of  her  lordly 
master,  she  gave  no  sign,  for  she  was  a  bird  of  goodly  pro 
portion  and  fine  feather  herself. 

She  chose  her  location  with  the  eye  of  an  artist,  and  the 
judgment  of  a  nest  builder  of  more  experience.  It  would 
be  difficult  for  snakes  and  squirrels  to  penetrate  that 

7 


C&e    %otiQ   of   tfce    Cardinal 

briery  thicket.  The  white  berry  blossoms  scarcely  had 
ceased  to  attract  a  swarm  of  insects  before  the  sweets 
of  the  roses  recalled  them;  by  the  time  they  had  faded, 
luscious  big  berries  ripened  within  reach  and  drew  food 
hunters.  She  built  with  far  more  than  ordinary  care. 
It  was  a  beautiful  nest,  not  nearly  so  carelessly  made  as 
those  of  her  kindred  all  through  the  swamp.  There  was  a 
distinct  attempt  at  a  cup  shape,  and  it  really  was  neatly 
lined  with  dried  blades  of  sweet  marsh  grass.  But  it 
was  in  the  laying  of  her  first  egg  that  the  queen  cardinal 
forever  distinguished  herself.  She  was  a  fine  healthy 
bird,  full  of  love  and  happiness  over  her  first  venture  in 
nest-building,  and  she  so  far  surpassed  herself  on  that 
occasion  she  had  difficulty  in  convincing  any  one  that 
she  was  responsible  for  the  result. 

Indeed,  she  was  compelled  to  lift  beak  and  wing  against 
her  mate  in  defense  of  this  egg,  for  it  was  so  unusually 
large  that  he  could  not  be  persuaded  short  of  force  that 
some  sneak  of  the  feathered  tribe  had  not  slipped  in  and 
deposited  it  in  her  absence.  The  king  felt  sure  there  was 
something  wrong  \vith  the  egg,  and  wanted  to  roll  it  from 
the  nest;  but  the  queen  knew  her  own,  and  stoutly  bat 
tled  for  its  protection.  She  further  increased  their  pros 
pects  by  laying  three  others.  After  that  the  king  made 

8 


Ci)e    ^ong   of   tfee    Cardinal 

up  his  mind  that  she  was  a  most  remarkable  bird, 
and  went  away  pleasure-seeking;  but  the  queen  settled 
to  brooding,  a  picture  of  joyous  faith  and  contentment. 

Through  all  the  long  days,  when  the  heat  became 
intense,  and  the  king  was  none  too  thoughtful  of  her  appe 
tite  or  comfort,  she  nestled  those  four  eggs  against  her 
breast  and  patiently  waited.  The  big  egg  was  her  treas 
ure.  She  gave  it  constant  care.  Many  times  in  a  day 
she  turned  it;  and  always  against  her  breast  there  was  the 
individual  pressure  that  distinguished  it  from  the  others. 
It  was  the  first  to  hatch,  of  course,  and  the  queen  felt  that 
she  had  enough  if  all  the  others  failed  her;  for  this  egg 
pipped  with  a  resounding  pip,  and  before  the  silky  down 
was  really  dry  on  the  big  terra-cotta  body,  the  young 
Cardinal  arose  and  lustily  demanded  food. 

The  king  came  to  see  him  and  at  once  acknowledged 
subjugation.  He  was  the  father  of  many  promising 
cardinals,  yet  he  never  had  seen  one  like  this.  He  set 
the  Limberlost  echoes  rolling  with  his  jubilant  rejoicing. 
He  unceasingly  hunted  for  llie  ripest  berries  and  seed. 
He  stuffed  that  baby  from  morning  until  night,  and  never 
came  with  food  that  he  did  not  find  him  standing  a-top  the 
others  calling  for  more.  The  queen  was  just  as  proud  of 
him  and  quite  as  foolish  in  her  idolatry,  but  she  kept 

9 


ong    of   tbe    CarDfnal 


tally  and  gave  the  remainder  every  other  worm  in  turn. 
They  were  unusually  fine  babies,  but  what  chance  has 
merely  a  fine  baby  in  a  family  that  possesses  a  prodigy? 
The  Cardinal  was  as  large  as  any  two  of  the  other  nest 
lings,  and  so  red  the  very  down  on  him  seemed  tinged  with 
crimson;  his  skin  and  even  his  feet  were  red. 

He  was  the  first  to  climb  to  the  edge  of  the  nest  and  the 
first  to  hop  on  a  limb.  He  surprised  his  parents  by  find 
ing  a  slug,  and  winged  his  first  flight  to  such  a  distance 
that  his  adoring  mother  almost  went  into  spasms  lest  his 
strength  might  fail,  and  he  would  fall  into  the  swamp 
and  become  the  victim  of  a  hungry  old  turtle.  He  re 
turned  safely,  however;  and  the  king  was  so  pleased  he 
hunted  him  an  unusually  ripe  berry,  and  perching  before 
him,  gave  him  his  first  language  lesson.  Of  course,  the 
Cardinal  knew  how  to  cry  "Pee"  and  "Chee"  when  he 
burst  his  shell;  but  the  king  taught  him  to  chip  with  ac 
curacy  and  expression,  and  he  learned  that  very  day  that 
male  birds  of  the  cardinal  family  always  call  "Chip,"  and 
the  females  "Chook."  In  fact,  he  learned  so  rapidly  and 
was  generally  so  observant,  that  before  the  king  thought 
:t  wise  to  give  the  next  lesson,  he  found  him  on  a  limb,  his 
beak  closed,  his  throat  swelling,  practising  his  own  render 
ing  of  the  tribal  calls,  "Wheat!  Wheat!  Wheat!"  "Here! 


Cfu    ^ong    of   tfje   CarDinal 

Here!  Here!"  and  "Cheer!  Cheer!  Cheer!"  This  so  de 
lighted  the  king  that  he  whistled  them  over  and  over  and 
helped  the  youngster  all  he  could. 

He  was  so  proud  of  him  that  this  same  night  he  gave 
him  his  first  lesson  in  tucking  his  head  properly  and  going 
to  sleep  alone.  In  a  few  more  days,  when  he  was  sure  of 
his  wing  strength,  he  gave  him  instructions  in  flying.  He 
taught  him  how  to  spread  his  wings  and  slowly  sail  from 
tree  to  tree;  how  to  fly  in  short  broken  curves,  to  avoid  the 
aim  of  a  hunter;  how  to  turn  abruptly  in  air  and  make 
a  quick  dash  after  a  bug  or  an  enemy.  He  taught  him  the 
proper  angle  at  which  to  breast  a  stiff  wind,  and  that  he 
always  should  meet  a  storm  head  first,  so  that  the  water 
would  run  as  the  plumage  lay. 

His  first  bathing  lesson  was  a  pronounced  success. 
The  Cardinal  enjoyed  water  like  a  duck.  He  bathed, 
splashed,  and  romped  until  his  mother  was  almost  crazy 
for  fear  he  would  attract  a  watersnake  or  turtle;  but  the 
element  of  fear  was  not  a  part  of  his  disposition.  He 
learned  to  dry,  dress,  and  plume  his  feathers,  and  showed 
such  remarkable  pride  in  keeping  himself  immaculate, 
that  although  only  a  youngster,  he  was  already  a  bird  of 
such  great  promise,  that  many  of  the  feathered  inhabitants 
of  the  Limberlost  came  to  pay  him  a  call. 

ii 


Cije    ^on0   of   t&e    CatDinal 

Next,  the  king  took  him  on  a  long  trip  around  the 
swamp,  and  taught  him  to  select  the  proper  places  to 
hunt  for  worms;  how  to  search  under  leaves  for  plant-lice 
and  slugs  for  meat;  which  berries  were  good  and  safe,  and 
the  kind  of  weeds  that  bore  the  most  and  best  seeds.  He 
showed  him  how  to  find  tiny  pebbles  to  grind  his  food, 
and  how  to  sharpen  and  polish  his  beak. 

Then  he  took  up  the  real  music  lessons,  and  taught  him 
how  to  whistle  and  how  to  warble  and  trill.  "Good 
Cheer!  Good  Cheer!"  intoned  the  king.  "Coo  Cher! 
Coo  Cher ! "  imitated  the  Cardinal.  These  songs  were  only 
studied  repetitions,  but  there  was  a  depth  and  volume  in 
his  voice  that  gave  promise  of  future  greatness,  when  age 
should  have  developed  him,  and  experience  awakened  his 
emotions.  He  was  an  excellent  musician  for  a  youngster. 

He  soon  did  so  well  in  caring  for  himself,  in  finding 
food  and  in  flight,  and  grew  so  big  and  independent,  that 
he  made  numerous  excursions  alone  through  the  Limber- 
lost;  and  so  impressive  were  his  proportions,  and  so  ag 
gressive  his  manners,  that  he  suffered  no  molestation. 
In  fact,  the  reign  of  the  king  promised  to  end  speedily; 
but  if  he  feared  it  he  made  no  sign,  and  his  pride  in  his 
wonderful  offspring  was  always  manifest.  After  the  Car 
dinal  had  explored  the  swamp  thoroughly,  a  longing  for 

12 


Cfce   ®on0   of   tfje   Cardinal 

a  wider  range  grew  upon  him;  and  day  after  day  he  lin 
gered  around  the  borders,  looking  across  the  wide  cul 
tivated  fields,  almost  aching  to  test  his  wings  in  one  long, 
high,  wild  stretch  of  flight. 

A  day  came  when  the  heat  of  late  summer  set  the  marsh 
steaming,  and  the  Cardinal,  flying  close  to  the  borders, 
caught  the  breeze  from  the  upland;  and  the  vision  of 
broad  fields  stretching  toward  the  north  so  enticed  Mm 
that  he  spread  his  wings,  and  following  the  line  of  trees 
and  fences  as  much  as  possible,  he  made  his  first  journey 
from  home.  That  day  was  so  delightful  it  decided  his  for 
tunes.  It  would  seem  that  the  swamp,  so  appreciated  by 
his  kindred,  should  have  been  sufficient  for  the  Cardinal, 
but  it  was  not.  With  every  mile  he  winged  his  flight,  came 
a  greater  sense  of  power  and  strength,  and  a  keener  love  for 
the  bioad  sweep  of  field  and  forest.  His  heart  bounded 
with  the  zest  of  rocking  on  the  wind,  racing  through 
the  sunshine,  and  sailing  over  the  endless  panorama  of 
waving  corn  fields,  meadows,  orchards,  and  woodlands. 

The  heat  and  closeness  of  the  Limberlost  seemed  a 
prison  well  escaped,  as  on  and  on  he  flew  in  straight  un 
tiring  flight.  Crossing  a  field  of  half-ripened  corn  that 
sloped  to  the  river,  the  Cardinal  saw  many  birds  feeding 
there,  so  he  alighted  on  a  tall  tree  to  watch  them.  Soon 


§ong   of  tbz  Cardinal 


he  decided  that  he  would  like  to  try  this  new  food.  He 
found  a  place  where  a  crow  had  left  an  ear  nicely  laid 
open,  and  clinging  to  the  husk,  as  he  saw  the  others  do,  he 
stretched  to  his  full  height  and  drove  his  strong  sharp 
beak  into  the  creamy  grain.  After  the  stifling  swamp 
hunting,  after  the  long  exciting  flight,  to  rock  on  this 
swaying  corn  and  drink  the  rich  milk  of  the  grain,  was  to 
the  Cardinal  his  first  taste  of  nectar  and  ambrosia.  He 
lifted  his  head  when  he  came  to  the  golden  kernel,  and 
chipping  it  in  tiny  specks,  he  tasted  and  approved  with 
all  the  delight  of  an  epicure  in  a  delicious  new  dish. 

Perhaps  there  were  other  treats  in  the  next  field.  He 
decided  to  fly  even  farther.  But  he  had  gone  only  a  short 
distance  wiien  he  changed  his  course  and  turned  to  the 
South,  for  below  him  was  a  long,  shining,  creeping  thing, 
fringed  with  willows,  while  towering  above  them  were 
giant  sycamore,  maple,  tulip,  and  elm  trees  that  caught 
and  rocked  with  the  wind;  and  the  Cardinal  did  not  know 
what  it  was.  Filled  with  wonder  he  dropped  lower  and 
lower.  Birds  were  everywhere,  many  flying  over  and 
dipping  into  it;  but  its  clear  creeping  silver  was  a  mystery 
to  the  Cardinal. 

The  beautiful  river  of  poetry  and  song  that  the  In 
dians  first  discovered,  and  later  with  the  French,  named 

16 


C&e   §>ong   of   tjje   CatDinal 

Ouabache;  the  winding  shining  river  that  Logan  and  Me- 
shin-go-me-sia  loved;  the  only  river  that  could  tempt  Wa- 
ca-co-nah  from  the  Salamonieand  Mississinewa;  the  river 
beneath  whose  silver  sycamores  and  giant  maples  Chief 
Godfrey  travelled  many  miles  to  pitch  his  camp-fires,  was 
never  more  beautiful  than  on  that  perfect  autumn  day. 

With  his  feathers  pressed  closely,  the  Cardinal  alighted 
on  a  willow,  and  leaned  to  look,  quivering  with  excitement 
and  uttering  explosive  "chips";  for  there  he  was,  face  to 
face  with  a  big  redbird  that  appeared  neither  peaceful 
nor  timid.  He  uttered  an  impudent  "  Chip  "  of  challenge, 
•which,  as  it  left  his  beak,  was  flung  back  to  him.  The 
Cardinal  flared  his  crest  and  half  lifted  his  wings,  stiffening 
them  at  the  butt;  the  bird  he  was  facing  did  the  same. 
In  his  surprise  he  arose  to  his  full  height  with  a  dexterous 
little  side  step,  and  the  other  bird  straightened  and  side 
stepped  exactly  with  him.  This  was  too  insulting  for  the 
Cardinal.  Straining  every  muscle,  he  made  a  dash  at  the 
impudent  stranger. 

He  struck  the  water  with  such  force  that  it  splashed 
above  the  willows,  and  a  kingfisher,  stationed  on  a  stump 
opposite  him,  watching  the  shoals  for  minnows,  saw  it. 
He  spread  his  beak  and  rolled  forth  rattling  laughter, 
until  his  voice  reechoed  from  point  to  point  down  the 


e   @>ong   of   tfje    Cardinal 


river.  The  Cardinal  scarcely  knew  how  he  got  out,  but 
he  had  learned  a  new  lesson.  That  beautiful,  shining, 
creeping  thing  was  water;  not  thick,  tepid,  black  marsh 
water,  but  pure,  cool,  silver  water.  He  shook  his  plum 
age,  feeling  a  degree  redder  from  shame,  but  he  would  not 
be  laughed  into  leaving.  He  found  it  too  delightful.  In 
a  short  time  he  ventured  down  and  took  a  sip,  and  it  was 
the  first  real  drink  of  his  life.  Oh,  but  it  was  good! 

When  thirst  from  the  heat  and  his  long  flight  was 
quenched,  he  ventured  in  for  a  bath,  and  that  was  a  new 
and  delightful  experience.  How  he  splashed  and  splashed, 
and  sent  the  silver  drops  flying!  How  he  ducked  and 
soaked  and  cooled  in  that  rippling  water,  in  which  he 
might  remain  as  long  as  he  pleased  and  splash  his  fill; 
for  he  could  see  the  bottom  for  a  long  distance  all 
around,  and  easily  could  avoid  anything  attempting  to 
harm  him.  He  was  so  wet  when  his  bath  was  finished  he 
scarcely  could  reach  a  bush  to  dry  and  dress  his  plumage. 

Once  again  in  perfect  feather,  he  remembered  the  bird 
of  the  water,  and  returned  to  the  willow.  There  in  the 
depths  of  the  shining  river  the  Cardinal  discovered  him 
self,  and  his  heart  swelled  big  with  just  pride.  Was  that 
broad  full  breast  his?  Where  had  he  seen  any  othei 
cardinal  with  a  crest  so  high  it  waved  in  the  wind?  How, 

18 


C6e   §ong   of   t&e   Cardinal 

big  and  black  his  eyes  were,  and  his  beard  was  almost  as 
long  and  crisp  as  his  father's.  He  spread  his  wings  and 
gloated  on  their  sweep,  and  twisted  and  flirted  his  tail. 
He  went  over  his  toilet  again  and  dressed  every  feather 
on  him.  He  scoured  the  back  of  his  neck  with  the  butt 
of  his  wings,  and  tucking  his  head  under  them,  slowly  drew 
it  out  time  after  time  to  polish  his  crest.  He  turned  and 
twisted.  He  rocked  and  paraded,  and  every  glimpse  he 
caught  of  his  size  and  beauty  filled  him  with  pride.  He 
strutted  like  a  peacock  and  chattered  like  a  jay. 

When  he  could  find  no  further  points  to  admire,  some 
thing  else  caught  his  attention.  When  he  "chipped" 
there  was  an  answering  "  Chip"  across  the  river;  certainly 
there  was  no  cardinal  there,  so  it  must  be  that  he  was  hear 
ing  his  own  voice  as  well  as  seeing  himself.  Selecting 
a  conspicuous  perch  he  sent  an  incisive  "Chip!"  across 
the  water,  and  in  kind  it  came  back  to  him.  Then  he 
"chipped"  softly  and  tenderly,  as  he  did  in  the  Limber- 
lost  to  a  favourite  little  sister  who  often  came  and  perched 
beside  him  in  the  maple  where  he  slept,  and  softly  and 
tenderly  came  the  answer.  Then  the  Cardinal  understood. 
"Wheat!  Wheat!  Wheat!"  He  whistled  it  high,  and  he 
whistled  it  low.  "Cheer!  Cheer!  Cheer!"  He  whistled 
it  tenderly  and  sharply  and  imperiously.  "Here!  Here! 

19 


C6e   §)ong    of   tjje   Cardinal 

Here!"  At  this  ringing  command,  every  bird,  as  far  as 
the  river  carried  his  voice,  came  to  investigate  and  re 
mained  to  admire.  Over  and  over  he  rang  every  change 
he  could  invent.  He  made  a  gallant  effort  at  warbling 
and  trilling,  and  then,  with  the  gladdest  heart  he  ever 
had  known,  he  burst  into  ringing  song:  "Good  Cheer! 
Good  Cheer !  Good  Cheer ! " 

As  evening  came  on  he  grew  restless  and  uneasy,  so  he 
slowly  winged  his  \vay  back  to  the  Limberlost;  but  that 
day  forever  spoiled  him  for  a  swamp  bird.  In  the  night 
he  restlessly  ruffled  his  feathers,  and  sniffed  for  the  breeze 
of  the  meadows.  He  tasted  the  corn  and  the  clear  water 
again.  He  admired  his  image  in  the  river,  and  longed  for 
the  sound  of  his  voice,  until  he  began  murmuring,  "  Wheat ! 
Wheat !  Wheat!"  in  his  sleep.  In  the  earliest  dawn  a 
robin  awoke  him  singing,  "Cheer  up!  Cheer  up!"  and  he 
answered  with  a  sleepy  "Cheer!  Cheer!  Cheer!"  Later 
the  robin  sang  again  with  exquisite  softness  and  tender 
ness:  "Cheer  up,  Dearie!  Cheer  up,  Dearie!  Cheer  up! 
Cheer  up!  Cheer!"  The  Cardinal,  now  fully  awakened, 
shouted  lustily,  "Good  Cheer!  Good  Cheer!"  and  after 
that  it  was  only  a  short  time  until  he  was  on  his  way 
toward  the  shining  river.  It  was  better  than  before,  and 
every  following  day  found  him  feasting  in  the  corn  field 

20 


Ct)e    %ong    of    tfu    CarDinal 

and  bathing  in  the  shining  water;  but  he  always  returned 
to  his  family  at  nightfall. 

When  black  frosts  began  to  strip  the  Limberlost,  and 
food  was  almost  reduced  to  dry  seed,  there  came  a  day 
on  which  the  king  marshalled  his  followers  and  gave  the 
magic  signal.  With  dusk  he  led  them  southward,  mile 
after  mile,  until  their  breath  fell  short,  and  their  wings 
ached  with  unaccustomed  flight;  but  because  of  the  trips 
to  the  river,  the  Cardinal  was  stronger  than  the  others,  and 
he  easily  kept  abreast  of  the  king.  In  the  early  morning, 
even  before  the  robins  were  awake,  the  king  settled  in  the 
Everglades.  But  the  Cardinal  had  lost  all  liking  for 
swamp  life,  so  he  stubbornly  set  out  alone,  and  in  a  short 
time  he  had  found  another  river.  It  was  not  quite  so 
delightful  as  the  shining  river;  but  still  it  was  beautiful, 
and  on  its  gently  sloping  bank  was  an  orange  orchard. 
There  the  Cardinal  rested,  and  found  a  winter  home  after 
his  heart's  desire. 

The  following  morning,  a  golden-haired  little  girl  and 
an  old  man  with  snowy  locks  came  hand  in  hand  through 
the  orchard.  The  child  saw  the  redbird  and  immediately 
claimed  him,  and  that  same  day  the  edict  went  forth  that 
a  very  dreadful  time  was  in  store  for  any  one  who  harmed 
or  even  frightened  the  Cardinal.  So  in  security  began  a 

21 


Cfje    ^ong    of   tfie    CatDinaS 

series  of  days  that  were  pure  delight.  The  orchard  was 
alive  with  insects,  attracted  by  the  heavy  odours,  and 
slugs  infested  the  bark.  Feasting  was  almost  as  good  as 
in  the  Limberlost,  and  always  there  was  the  river  to  drink 
from  and  to  splash  in  at  will. 

In  those  days  the  child  and  the  old  man  lingered  for 
hours  in  the  orchard,  watching  the  bird  that  every  day 
seemed  to  grow  bigger  and  brighter.  What  a  picture  his 
coat,  now  a  bright  cardinal  red,  made  against  the  waxy 
green  leaves !  How  big  and  brilliant  he  seemed  as  he  raced 
and  darted  in  play  among  the  creamy  blossoms!  How  the 
little  girl  stood  with  clasped  hands  worshipping  him,  as 
with  swelling  throat  he  rocked  on  the  highest  spray  and 
sang  his  inspiring  chorus  over  and  over:  "Good  Cheer! 
Good  Cheer! "  Every  day  they  came  to  w^atch  and  listen. 
They  scattered  crumbs;  and  the  Cardinal  grew  so  friendly 
that  he  greeted  their  coming  with  a  quick  "Chip!  Chip!" 
while  the  delighted  child  tried  to  repeat  it  after  him.  Soon 
they  became  such  friends  that  when  he  saw  them  ap 
proaching  he  would  call  softly  "Chip!  Chip!"  and  then 
with  beady  eyes  and  tilted  head  await  her  reply. 

Sometimes  a  member  of  his  family  from  the  Everglades 
found  his  way  into  the  orchard,  and  the  Cardinal,  having 
grown  to  feel  a  sense  of  proprietorship,  resented  the  ini 

22 


Cbe    @>ong   of   tfje    Cardinal 

trusion  and  pursued  him  like  a  streak  of  flame.  Whenever 
any  straggler  had  this  experience,  he  returned  to  the 
swamp  realizing  that  the  Cardinal  of  the  orange  orchard 
was  almost  twice  his  size  and  strength,  and  so  startlingly 
red  as  to  be  a  wonder. 

One  day  a  gentle  breeze  from  the  north  sprang  up  and 
stirred  the  orange  branches,  wafting  the  heavy  perfume 
across  the  land  and  out  to  sea,  and  spread  in  its  stead  a 
cool,  delicate,  pungent  odour.  The  Cardinal  lifted  his 
head  and  whistled  an  inquiring  note.  He  was  not  certain, 
and  went  on  searching  for  slugs,  and  predicting  happiness 
in  full  round  notes:  "Good  Cheer!  Good  Cheer!"  Again 
the  odour  swept  the  orchard,  so  strong  that  this  time  there 
was  no  mistaking  it.  The  Cardinal  darted  to  the  top 
most  branch,  his  crest  flaring,  his  tail  twitching  nervously. 
"Chip!  Chip!"  he  cried  with  excited  insistence,  "Chip! 
Chip!" 

The  breeze  was  coming  stiffly  and  steadily  now,  unlike 
anything  the  Cardinal  ever  had  known,  for  its  cool  breath 
told  of  ice-bound  fields  breaking  up  under  the  sun.  Its 
damp  touch  was  from  the  spring  showers  washing  the  face 
of  the  northland.  Its  subtle  odour  was  the  commingling 
of  myriads  of  unfolding  leaves  and  crisp  plants,  upspring- 
ing;  its  pungent  perfume  was  the  pollen  of  catkins. 

23 


C6e   %ong   of   tie   CatDlnal 

tip  in  the  land  of  the  Limberlost,  old  Mother  Nature, 
with  strident  muttering,  had  set  about  her  annual  house- 
cleaning.  With  her  efficient  broom,  the  March  wind, 
she  was  sweeping  every  nook  and  cranny  clean.  With 
her  scrub-bucket  overflowing  with  April  showers,  she  was 
washing  the  face  of  all  creation,  and  if  these  measures 
failed  to  produce  cleanliness  to  her  satisfaction,  she  gave 
a  final  polish  with  storms  of  hail.  The  shining  river  was 
filled  to  overflowing;  breaking  up  the  ice  and  carrying  a 
load  of  refuse,  it  went  rolling  to  the  sea.  The  ice  and 
snow  had  not  altogether  gone;  but  the  long-pregnant 
earth  was  mothering  her  children.  She  cringed  at  every 
step,  for  the  ground  was  teeming  with  life.  Bug  and 
worm  were  working  to  light  and  warmth.  Thrusting 
aside  the  mold  and  leaves  above  them,  spring  beauties, 
hepaticas,  and  violets  lifted  tender  golden-green  heads. 
The  sap  was  flowing,  and  leafless  trees  were  covered  with 
swelling  buds.  Delicate  mosses  were  creeping  over  every 
stick  of  decaying  timber.  The  lichens  on  stone  and  fence 
were  freshly  painted  in  unending  shades  of  gray  and  green. 
Myriads  of  flowers  and  vines  were  springing  up  to  cover 
last  year's  decaying  leaves.  "The  beautiful  uncut  hair 
of  graves"  was  creeping  over  meadow,  spreading  beside 
roadways,  and  blanketing  every  naked  spot. 

24 


C&e    &ong    of   tjje    CatDfnal 

The  Limberlost  was  waking  to  life  even  ahead  of  the 
fields  and  the  river.  Through  the  winter  it  had  been  the 
barest  and  dreariest  of  places;  but  now  the  earliest  signs 
of  returning  spring  were  in  its  martial  music,  for  when  the 
green  hyla  pipes,  and  the  bullfrog  drums,  the  bird  voices 
soon  join  them.  The  catkins  bloomed  first;  and  then,  in 
an  incredibly  short  time,  flags,  rushes,  and  vines  were  like 
a  sea  of  waving  green,  and  swelling  buds  were  ready  to 
burst.  In  the  upland  the  smoke  was  curling  over  sugar- 
camp  and  clearing;  in  the  forests  animals  were  rousing  from 
their  long  sleep;  the  shad  were  starting  anew  their  never- 
ending  journey  up  the  shining  river;  peeps  of  green  were 
mantling  hilltop  and  valley;  and  the  northland  was  ready 
for  its  dearest  springtime  treasures  to  come  home  again. 

From  overhead  were  ringing  those  first  glad  notes, 
caught  nearer  the  Throne  than  those  of  any  other  bird, 
"Spring  o'  year!  Spring  o'  year!";  while  stilt-legged 
little  killdeers  were  scudding  around  the  Limberlost 
and  beside  the  river,  flinging  from  cloudland  their  "Kill 
deer!  Kill  deer!"  call.  The  robins  in  the  orchards  were 
pulling  the  long  dried  blades  of  last  year's  grass  from  be 
neath  the  snow  to  line  their  mud- walled  cups;  and  the 
bluebirds  were  at  the  hollow  apple  tree.  Flat  on  the  top 
rail,  the  doves  were  gathering  their  few  coarse  sticks  and 

25 


C&e    §ong    of    tbe    CarDfnal 

twigs  together.  It  was  such  a  splendid  place  to  set  their 
cradle.  The  weatherbeaten,  rotting  old  rails  were  the 
very  colour  of  the  busy  dove  mother.  Her  red-rimmed  eye 
fitted  into  the  background  like  a  tiny  scarlet  lichen  cup. 
Surely  no  one  would  ever  see  her!  The  Limberlost  and 
shining  river,  the  fields  and  forests,  the  wayside  bushes 
and  fences,  the  stumps,  logs,  hollow  trees,  even  the  bare 
brown  breast  of  Mother  Earth,  were  all  waiting  to  cradle 
their  own  again;  and  by  one  of  the  untold  miracles  each 
would  return  to  its  place. 

There  was  intoxication  in  the  air.  The  subtle,  pungent, 
ravishing  odours  on  the  wind,  of  unfolding  leaves,  ice- 
water  washed  plants,  and  catkin  pollen,  were  an  elixir  to 
humanity.  The  cattle  of  the  field  were  fairly  drunk  with 
it,  and  herds,  dry-fed  during  the  winter,  were  coming  to 
their  first  grazing  with  heads  thrown  high,  romping,  bel 
lowing,  and  racing  like  wild  things. 

The  north  wind,  sweeping  from  icy  fastnesses,  caught 
this  odour  of  spring,  and  carried  it  to  the  orange  orchards 
and  Everglades;  and  at  a  breath  of  it,  crazed  with  excite 
ment,  the  Cardinal  went  flaming  through  the  orchard,  for 
with  no  one  to  teach  him,  he  knew  what  it  meant.  The 
call  had  come.  Holidays  were  over. 

It  was  time  to  go  home,  time  to  riot  in  crisp  freshness, 

26 


Cfce   ^ong   of   tie   Cardinal 

time  to  go  courting,  time  to  make  love,  time  to  possess  his 
own,  time  for  mating  and  nest-building.  All  that  day 
he  flashed  around,  nervous  with  dread  of  the  unknown, 
and  palpitant  with  delightful  expectation;  but  with  the 
coming  of  dusk  he  began  his  journey  northward. 

When  he  passed  the  Everglades,  he  winged  his  way 
slowly,  and  repeatedly  sent  down  a  challenging  "Chip," 
but  there  was  no  answer.  Then  the  Cardinal  knew  that 
the  north  wind  had  carried  a  true  message,  for  the  king 
and  his  followers  were  ahead  of  him  on  their  way  to  the 
Limberlost.  Mile  after  mile,  a  thing  of  pulsing  fire,  he 
breasted  the  blue-black  night,  and  it  was  not  so  very  long 
until  he  could  discern  a  flickering  patch  of  darkness  sweep 
ing  the  sky  before  him.  The  Cardinal  flew  steadily  in  a 
straight  sweep,  until  with  a  throb  of  triumph  in  his  heart, 
he  arose  in  his  course,  and  from  far  overhead,  flung  down 
a  boastful  challenge  to  the  king  and  his  followers,  as  he 
sailed  above  them  and  was  lost  from  sight. 

It  was  still  dusky  with  the  darkness  of  night  when  he 
crossed  the  Limberlost,  dropping  low  enough  to  see  its 
branches  laid  bare,  to  catch  a  gleam  of  green  in  its  swelling 
buds,  and  to  hear  the  wavering  chorus  of  its  frogs.  But 
there  was  no  hesitation  in  his  flight.  Straight  and  sure 
he  winged  his  way  toward  the  shining  river;  and  it  was 

27 


Cfje   %ons   of   t&c    Cardinal 

only  a  few  more  miles  until  the  rolling  waters  of  its  spring 
time  flood  caught  his  eye.  Dropping  precipitately,  he 
plunged  his  burning  beak  into  the  loved  water;  then  he 
flew  into  a  fine  old  stag  sumac  and  tucked  his  head  under 
his  wing  for  a  short  rest.  He  had  made  the  long  flight 
in  one  unbroken  sweep,  and  he  was  sleepy.  In  utter  con 
tent  he  ruffled  his  feathers  and  closed  his  eyes,  for  he  was 
beside  the  shining  river;  and  it  would  be  another  season 
before  the  orange  orchard  would  ring  again  with  his 
"Good  Cheer!  Good  Cheeri" 


year!  Wet  year!"  prophesied  the  Cardinal 


The  sumac  seemed  to  fill 
his  idea  of  a  perfect  loca 
tion  from  the  very  first.  He 
perched  on  a  limb,  and  be 
tween  dressing  his  plumage 
and  pecking  at  last  year's 
sour  dried  berries,  he  sent 
abroad  his  prediction.  Old 
Mother  Nature  verified  his 
wisdom  by  sending  a  dash 
ing  shower,  but  he  cared  not 
at  all  for  a  wetting.  He  knew 
how  to  turn  his  crimson  suit  into  the  most  perfect 
of  water-proof  coats;  so  he  flattened  his  crest,  sleeked 
his  feathers,  and  breasting  the  April  downpour,  kept  on 
calling  for  rain.  He  knew  he  would  appear  brighter 
when  it  was  past,  and  he  seemed  to  know,  too,  that 
every  day  of  sunshine  and  shower  would  bring  nearer 
his  heart's  desire. 

29 


C&e   ®on0   of   tkt   CatDinal 

He  was  a  very  Beau  Brummel  while  he  waited.  From 
morning  until  night  he  bathed,  dressed  his  feathers, 
Sunned  himself,  fluffed  and  flirted.  He  strutted  and 
"chipped"  incessantly.  He  claimed  that  sumac  for  his 
very  own,  and  stoutly  battled  for  possession  with  many 
intruders.  It  grew  on  a  densely  wooded  slope,  and  the 
shining  river  went  singing  between  grassy  banks,  whitened 
with  spring  beauties,  below  it.  Crowded  around  it  were 
thickets  of  papaw,  wild  grape-vines,  Chorn,  dogwood,  and 
red  haw,  that  attracted  bug  and  insect;  and  just  across 
the  old  snake  fence  was  a  field  of  mellow  mould  sloping  to 
the  river,  that  soon  would  be  plowed  for  corn,  turning  out 
numberless  big  fat  grubs. 

He  was  compelled  almost  hourly  to  wage  battles  for  his 
location,  for  there  was  something  fine  about  the  old  stag 
sumac  that  attracted  homestead  seekers.  A  sober  pair 
of  robins  began  laying  their  foundations  there  the  morning 
the  Cardinal  arrived,  and  a  couple  of  blackbirds  tried  to 
take  possession  before  the  day  had  passed.  He  had  little 
urouble  with  the  robins.  They  were  easily  conquered, 
and  with  small  protest  settled  a  rod  up  the  bank  in  a 
wild-pmm  tree;  but  the  air  was  thick  with  "chips," 
chatter,  and  red  and  black  feathers,  before  the  black 
birds  acknowledged  defeat.  They  were  old-timers,  and 

30 


"HE   KEPT  ON   CALLING  FOR  RAIN 


C6e   @>ong    of   t6c    Cardinal 

knew  about  the  grubs  and  the  young  corn;  but 
they  also  knew  when  they  were  beaten,  so  they  moved 
down  stream  to  a  scrub  oak,  trying  to  assure  each  other 
that  it  was  the  place  they  really  had  wanted  from  the 
first. 

The  Cardinal  was  left  boasting  and  strutting  in  the 
sumac,  but  in  his  heart  he  found  it  lonesome  business. 
Being  the  son  of  a  king,  he  was  much  too  dignified  to  beg 
for  a  mate,  and  besides,  it  took  all  his  time  to  guard  the 
sumac;  but  his  eyes  were  wide  open  to  all  that  went  on 
around  him,  and  he  envied  the  blackbird  his  glossy,  de 
voted  little  sweetheart,  with  all  his  might.  He  almost 
strained  his  voice  trying  to  rival  the  love-song  of  a  skylark 
that  hung  among  the  clouds  above  a  meadow  across  the 
river,  and  poured  down  to  his  mate  a  story  of  adoring 
love  and  sympathy.  He  screamed  a  "Chip"  of  such  sav 
age  jealousy  at  a  pair  of  killdeer  lovers  that  he  sent  them 
scampering  down  the  river  bank  without  knowing  that 
the  crime  of  which  they  stood  convicted  was  that  of  being 
mated  when  he  was  not.  As  for  the  doves  that  were  al 
ready  brooding  on  the  line  fence  beneath  the  maples, 
the  Cardinal  was  torn  between  two  opinions. 

He  was  alone,  he  was  love-sick,  and  he  was  holding  the 
finest  building  location  beside  the  shining  river  for  his 

33 


€t)c    ^ong    of    tbe    CatDinal 

mate,  and  her  slowness  in  coming  made  their  devotion 
difficult  to  endure  when  he  coveted  a  true  love;  but  it 
seemed  to  the  Cardinal  that  he  never  could  so  forget  him 
self  as  to  emulate  the  example  of  that  dove  lover.  The 
dove  had  no  dignity;  he  was  so  effusive  he  was  a  nuisance. 
He  kept  his  dignified  Quaker  mate  stuffed  to  discomfort; 
he  clung  to  the  side  of  the  nest  trying  to  help  brood  until 
he  almost  crowded  her  from  the  eggs.  He  pestered  her 
with  caresses  and  cooed  over  his  love-song  until  every 
chipmunk  on  the  line  fence  was  familiar  with  his  story. 
The  Cardinal's  temper  was  worn  to  such  a  fine  edge  that 
he  darted  at  the  dove  one  day  and  pulled  a  big  tuft  of 
feathers  from  his  back.  When  he  had  returned  to  the 
sumac,  he  was  compelled  to  admit  that  his  anger  lay  quite 
as  much  in  that  he  had  no  one  to  love  as  because  the  dove 
was  disgustingly  devoted. 

Every  morning  brought  new  arrivals — trim  young 
females  fresh  from  their  long  holiday,  and  big  boastful 
males  appearing  their  brightest  and  bravest,  each  singer 
almost  splitting  his  throat  in  the  effort  to  captivate  the 
mate  he  coveted.  They  came  flashing  down  the  river 
bank,  like  rockets  of  scarlet,  gold,  blue,  and  black;  rocking 
on  the  willows,  splashing  in  the  water,  bursting  into  jets 
of  melody,  making  every  possible  display  of  their  beauty 

34 


€be   ^>ong   of   tbe   Caroina! 

and  music;  and  at  times  fighting  fiercely  when  they  dis 
covered  that  the  females  they  were  wooing  favoured  their 
rivals  and  desired  only  to  be  friendly  with  them. 

The  heart  of  the  Cardinal  sank  as  he  watched.  There 
was  not  a  member  of  his  immediate  family  among  them. 
He  pitied  himself  as  he  wondered  if  fate  had  in  store  for 
him  the  trials  he  saw  others  suffering.  Those  dreadful 
feathered  females!  How  they  coquetted!  How  they 
flirted!  How  they  sleeked  and  flattened  their  plumage, 
and  with  half-open  beaks  and  sparkling  eyes,  hopped 
closer  and  closer  as  if  charmed.  The  eager  singers,  with 
swelling  throats,  sang  and  sang  in  a  very  frenzy  of  ex 
travagant  pleading,  but  just  when  they  felt  sure  their 
little  loves  were  on  the  point  of  surrender,  a  rod  distant 
above  the  bushes  would  go  streaks  of  feathers,  and  there 
was  nothing  left  but  to  endure  the  bitter  disappointment, 
follow  them,  and  begin  all  over.  For  the  last  three  days 
the  Cardinal  had  been  watching  his  cousin,  rose-breasted 
Grosbeak,  make  violent  love  to  the  most  exquisite 
little  female,  who  apparently  encouraged  his  advances, 
only  to  see  him  left  sitting  as  blue  and  disconsolate  as 
any  human  lover,  when  he  discovers  that  the  maid  who 
has  coquetted  with  him  for  a  season  belongs  to  another 
man. 

35 


C&e   &ong   of   tie   Cardinal 

The  Cardinal  flew  to  the  very  top  of  the  highest  syca 
more  and  looked  across  country  toward  the  Limberlost. 
Should  he  go  there  seeking  a  swamp  mate  among  his 
kindred?  It  was  not  an  endurable  thought.  To  be  sure, 
matters  were  becoming  serious.  No  bird  beside  the 
shining  river  had  plumed,  paraded,  or  made  more  music 
than  he.  Was  it  all  to  be  wasted?  By  this  time  he  con 
fidently  had  expected  results.  Only  that  morning  he  had 
swelled  with  pride  as  he  heard  Mrs.  Jay  tell  her  quarrel 
some  husband  that  she  wished  she  could  exchange  him  for 
the  Cardinal.  Did  not  the  gentle  dove  pause  by  the  su 
mac,  when  she  left  brooding  to  take  her  morning  dip  in 
the  dust,  and  gaze  at  him  with  unconcealed  admiration? 
No  doubt  she  devoutly  wished  her  plain  pudgy  husband 
wore  a  scarlet  coat.  But  it  is  praise  from  one's  own  sex 
that  is  praise  indeed,  and  only  an  hour  ago  the  lark  had 
reported  that  from  his  lookout  above  cloud  he  saw  no 
other  singer  anywhere  so  splendid  as  the  Cardinal  of  the 
sumac.  Because  of  these  things  he  held  fast  to  his  con 
viction  that  he  was  a  prince  indeed;  and  he  decided  to 
remain  in  his  chosen  location  and  with  his  physical  and 
vocal  attractions  compel  the  finest  little  cardinal  in  the 
fields  to  seek  him. 

He  planned  it  all  very  carefully:  how  she  would  hear 

36 


C6e    %ons   of   t&e   CatUfttal 

his  splendid  music  and  come  to  take  a  peep  at  him;  how 
she  would  be  captivated  by  his  size  and  beauty;  how  she 
would  come  timidly,  but  come,  of  course,  for  his  approval; 
how  he  would  condescend  to  accept  her  if  she  pleased  him 
in  all  particulars;  how  she  would  be  devoted  to  him;  and 
how  she  would  approve  his  choice  of  a  home,  for  the  sumac 
was  in  a  lovely  spot  for  scenery,  as  well  as  nest-building. 
For  several  days  he  had  boasted,  he  had  bantered,  he  had 
challenged,  he  had  on  this  last  day  almost  condescended 
to  coaxing,  but  not  one  little  bright-eyed  cardinal  female 
had  come  to  offer  herself. 

The  performance  of  a  brown  thrush  drove  him  wild  with! 
envy.  The  thrush  came  gliding  up  the  river  bank,  a 
rusty-coated,  sneaking  thing  of  the  underbrush,  and  tak 
ing  possession  of  a  thorn  bush  just  opposite  the  sumac^ 
he  sang  for  an  hour  in  the  open.  There  was  no  way  to 
improve  that  music.  It  was  woven  fresh  from  the  warp 
and  woof  of  his  fancy.  It  was  a  song  so  filled  with  the  joy 
and  gladness  of  spring,  notes  so  thrilled  with  love's  plead, 
ing  and  passion's  tender  pulsing  pain,  that  at  its  close 
there  were  a  half-dozen  admiring  thrush  females  gathered 
around.  With  care  and  deliberation  the  brown  thrush 
selected  the  most  attractive,  and  she  followed  him  to  the 
thicket  as  if  charmed. 

37 


C6e    ^>ong    of   t6e   CatDfnal 


It  was  the  Cardinal's  dream  materialized  for  another 
before  his  very  eyes,  and  it  filled  him  with  envy.  If  that 
plain  brown  bird  that  slinked  as  if  he  had  a  theft  to  ac 
count  for,  could,  by  showing  himself  and  singing  for  an 
hour,  win  a  mate,  why  should  not  he,  the  most  gorgeous 
bird  of  the  woods,  openly  flaunting  his  charms  and  dis 
coursing  his  music,  have  at  least  equal  success?  Should 
he,  the  proudest,  most  magnificent  of  cardinals,  be  com 
pelled  to  go  seeking  a  mate  like  any  common  bird?  Per 
ish  the  thought! 

He  went  to  the  river  to  bathe.  After  finding  a  spot 
where  the  water  flowed  crystal-clear  over  a  bed  of  white 
limestone,  he  washed  until  he  felt  that  he  could  be  no 
cleaner.  Then  the  Cardinal  went  to  his  favourite  sun- 
parlour,  and  stretching  on  a  limb,  he  stood  his  feathers 
on  end,  and  sunned,  fluffed  and  prinked  until  he  was  im 
maculate. 

On  the  tip-top  antler  of  the  old  stag  sumac,  he  perched 
and  strained  until  his  jetty  whiskers  appeared  stubby.  He 
poured  out  a  tumultuous  cry  vibrant  with  every  passion 
raging  in  him.  He  caught  up  his  own  rolling  echoes  and 
changed  and  varied  them.  He  improvised,  and  set  the 
shiniag  river  ringing,  "  Wet  year  !  Wet  year  !  " 

He  whistled  and  whistled  until  all  birdland  and  even 

38 


Cbe   %>ong    of   t&e    CatDinal 

mankind  heard,  for  the  farmer  paused  at  his  kitchen  door, 
with  his  pails  of  foaming  milk,  and  called  to  his  wife : 

"Hear  that,  Maria!  Jest  hear  it!  I  swanny,  if  that 
bird  doesn't  stop  predictin'  wet  weather,  I'll  get  so  scared 
I  won't  durst  put  in  my  corn  afore  June.  They's  some 
birds  like  killdeers  an'  bobwhites  'at  can  make  things 
pretty  plain,  but  I  never  heard  a  bird  'at  could  jest  speak 
words  out  clear  an'  distinct  like  that  fellow.  Seems  to 
come  from  the  river  bottom.  B'lieve  I'll  jest  step  down 
that  way  an'  see  if  the  lower  field  is  ready  for  the  plow 
yet." 

"Abram.  Johnson,"  said  his  wife,  "bein's  you  set  up 
for  an  honest  man,  if  you  want  to  trapes  through  slush 
an'  drizzle  a  half-mile  to  see  a  bird,  why  say  so,  but  don't 
for  land's  sake  lay  it  on  to  plowin'  'at  you  know  in  all 
conscience  won't  be  ready  for  a  week  yet  'thout  pre- 
tendin'  to  look." 

Abram  grinned  sheepishly.  "I'm  willin'  to  call  it  the 
bird  if  you  are,  Maria.  I've  been  hearin'  him  from  the 
barn  all  day,  an'  there's  somethin'  kind  o'  human  in  his 
notes  'at  takes  me  jest  a  little  diffmnt  from  any  other  bird 
I  ever  noticed.  I'm  really  curious  to  set  eyes  on  him. 
Seemed  to  me  from  his  singin'  out  to  the  barn,  it  'ud  be 
mighty  near  like  meetin'  folks." 

39 


^ong   of   t&e   CatDinal 


"Bosh!"  exclaimed  Maria.  "I  don't  s'pose  he  sings 
a  mite  better  'an  any  other  bird.  It's  jest  the  old  Wabash 
rollin'  up  the  echoes.  A  bird  singin'  beside  the  river  al 
ways  sounds  twict  as  fine  as  one  on  the  hills.  I've 
knowed  that  for  forty  year.  Chances  are  'at  he'll  be 
gone  'fore  you  get  there." 

As  Abram  opened  the  door,  "Wet  year!  Wet  year!" 
pealed  the  flaming  prophet. 

He  went  out,  closing  the  door  softly,  and  with  an  utter 
disregard  for  the  corn  field,  made  a  bee  line  for  the  musi 
cian. 

"I  don't  know  as  this  is  the  best  for  twinges  o'  rheu- 
matiz,"  he  muttered,  as  he  turned  up  his  collar  and  drew 
his  old  hat  lower  to  keep  the  splashing  drops  from  his  face. 
"I  don't  jest  rightly  s'pose  I  should  go;  but  I'm  free  to 
admit  I'd  as  lief  be  dead  as  not  to  answer  when  I  get  a  call, 
an'  the  fact  is,  I'm  called  down  beside  the  river." 

"Wet  year!  Wet  year!"  rolled  the  Cardinal's  predic 
tion. 

"Thanky,  old  fellow!  Glad  to  hear  you!  Didn't  jest 
need  the  information,  but  I  got  my  bearin's  rightly  from 
it!  I  can  about  pick  out  your  bush,  an'  it's  well  along 
towards  evenin',  too,  an'  must  be  mighty  near  your  bed 
time.  Looks  as  if  you  might  be  stayin'  round  these  parts  ! 

40 


HE    SUNNED    HIMSELF,    FLUFFED   AND   FLIRTED 


e    ^>ong    of   tfje    Cardinal 


I'd  like  it  powerful  well  if  you'd  settle  right  here,  say  'bout 
where  you  are.  An'  where  are  you,  anyway?  " 

Abram  went  peering  and  dodging  beside  the  fence, 
peeping  into  the  bushes,  searching  for  the  bird.  Suddenly 
there  was  a  whir  of  wings  and  a  streak  of  crimson. 

"Scared  you  into  the  next  county,  I  s'pose,"  he  mut 
tered. 

But  it  came  nearer  being  a  scared  man  than  a  fright 
ened  bird,  for  the  Cardinal  flashed  straight  toward  him 
until  only  a  few  yards  away,  and  then,  swaying  on  a  bush, 
it  chipped,  cheered,  peeked,  whistled  broken  notes,  and 
manifested  perfect  delight  at  the  sight  of  the  white-haired 
old  man.  Abram  stared  in  astonishment. 

"Lord  A'mighty!"  he  gasped.  "Big  as  a  blackbird, 
red  as  a  live  coal,  an'  a-comin'  right  at  me.  You  are 
somebody's  pet,  that's  what  you  are!  An'  no,  you  ain't 
either.  Settin'  on  a  sawed  stick  in  a  little  wire  house 
takes  all  the  ginger  out  of  any  bird,  an'  their  feathers  are 
always  mussy.  Inside  o'  a  cage  never  saw  you,  for  they 
ain't  a  feather  out  o'  place  on  you.  You  are  finer'n  a 
piece  o'  red  satin.  An'  you  got  that  way  o'  swingin'  an' 
dancin'  an'  high-steppin'  right  out  in  God  A'mighty's  big 
woods^a  teeterin'  in  the  wind,  an'  a  dartin'  'crost  the  water. 
Cage  never  touched  you!  But  you  are  somebody's  pet 

43 


C&e   %ong   of   tfcc    CatDfnal 

jest  the  same.    An'  I  look  like  the  man,  an*  you  are 
tryin'  to  tell  me  so,  by  gum!" 

Leaning  toward  Abram,  the  Cardinal  turned  his  head 
from  side  to  side,  and  peered,  "chipped,"  and  waited  for 
an  answering  "Chip"  from  a  little  golden-haired  child, 
but  there  was  no  way  for  the  man  to  know  that. 

"It's  jest  as  sure  as  fate,"  he  said.  "You  think  you 
know  me,  an'  you  are  tryin'  to  tell  me  somethin'.  Wish 
to  land  I  knowed  what  you  want!  Are  you  tryin'  to  tell 
me  'Howdy'?  Well,  I  don't  'low  nobody  to  be  politer 
'an  I  am,  so  far  as  I  know." 

Abram  lifted  his  old  hat,  and  the  raindrops  glistened  on 
his  white  hair.  He  squared  his  shoulders  and  stood  very 
erect. 

"Howdy,  Mr.  Redbird!  How  d'ye  find  yerself  this 
evenin'?  I  don't  jest  riccolict  ever  seein'  you  before, 
but  I'll  never  meet  you  agin  'thout  knowin'  you.  When 
d'you  arrive?  Come  through  by  the  special  midnight 
flyer,  did  you?  Well,  you  never  was  more  welcome  any 
place  in  your  life.  I'd  give  a  right  smart  sum  this  minnit 
if  you'd  say  you  came  to  settle  on  this  river  bank.  How 
do  you  like  it?  To  my  mind  it's  jest  as  near  Paradise  as 
you'll  strike  on  earth. 

"Old  Wabash  is  a  twister  for  curvin'  and  windin'  round, 

44 


Cfje    ^ottg    of   tfje    Cardinal 

an*  it's  limestone  bed  half  the  way,  an'  the  water's  as 
pretty  an'  clear  as  in  Maria's  springhouse.  An'  as  for 
trimmin',  why  say,  Mr.  Redbird,  I'll  jest  leave  it  to  you 
if  she  ain't  all  trimmed  up  like  a  woman's  spring  bunnit. 
Look  at  the  grass  a-creepin'  right  down  till  it's  a  trailin' 
in  the  water!  Did  you  ever  see  jest  quite  such  fine  fringy 
willers?  An'  you  wait  a  little,  an'  the  flowerin'  mallows 

• 

'at  grows  long  the  shinin'  old  river  are  fine  as  garden 
hollyhocks.  Maria  says  'at  they'd  be  purtier  'an  hers 
if  they  were  only  double;  but,  Lord,  Mr.  Redbird,  they  are! 
See  'em  once  on  the  bank,  an'  agin  in  the  water!  An* 
back  a  little  an'  there's  jest  thickets  of  papaw,  an'  thorns, 
an'  wild  grape-vines,  an'  crab,  an'  red  an'  black  haw,  an* 
dogwood,  an'  sumac,  an'  spicebush,  an'  trees!  Lord! 
Mr.  Redbird,  the  sycamores,  an'  maples,  an'  tulip,  an' 
ash,  an'  elm  trees  are  so  bustin'  fine  'long  the  old  Wabash 
they  put  'em  into  poetry  books  an'  sing  songs  about  'em. 
What  do  you  think  o'  that?  Jest  back  o'  you  a  little 
there's  a  sycamore  split  into  five  trunks,  any  one  o'  them 
a  famous  big  tree,  tops  up  'mong  the  clouds,  an*  roots 
diggin'  under  the  old  river;  an'  over  a  little  farther 's  a 
maple  'at's  eight  big  trees  in  one.  Most  anything  you 
can  name,  you  can  find  it  'long  this  ole  Wabash,  if  you 
only  know  where  to  hunt  for  it. 

45 


Cbe    ^ong    ot    tfce    CarUfnal 

"They's  mighty  few  white  men  takes  the  trouble  to 
look,  but  the  Indians  used  to  know.  They'd  come  ca- 
noein'  an'  fishin'  down  the  river  an'  camp  under  these  very 
trees,  an'  Ma  'ud  git  so  mad  at  the  old  squaws.  Settlers 
wasn't  so  thick  then,  an'  you  had  to  be  mighty  careful 
not  to  rile  'em,  an'  they'd  come  a-trapesin'  with  their  wild 
berries.  Woods  full  o'  berries!  Anybody  could  get  'em 
by  the  bushel  for  the  pickin',  an'  we  hadn't  got  on  to 
raisin*  much  wheat,  an'  had  to  carry  it  on  horses  over 
into  Ohio  to  get  it  milled.  Took  Pa  five  days  to  make  the 
trip;  an'  then  the  blame  old  squaws  'ud  come,  an'  Ma  'ud 
be  compelled  to  hand  over  to  Jem  her  big  white  loaves. 
Jest  about  set  her  plumb  crazy.  Used  to  get  up  in  the 
night,  an'  fix  her  yeast,  an'  bake,  an'  let  the  oven  cool,  an' 
hide  the  bread  out  in  the  wheat  bin,  an'  get  the  smell  of 
it  all  out  o'  the  house  by  good  daylight,  so's  'at  she  could 
say  there  wasn't  a  loaf  in  the  cabin.  Oh!  if  it's  good 
pickin'  you're  after,  they's  berries  for  all  creation  'long 
the  river  yet;  an'  jest  wait  a  few  days  till  old  April  gets 
done  showerin'  an'  I  plow  this  corn  field ! " 

Abram  set  a  foot  on  the  third  rail  and  leaned  his  elbows 
on  the  top.  The  Cardinal  chipped  delightedly  and  hopped 
and  tilted  closer. 

"I  hadn't  jest  'lowed  all  winter  I'd  tackle  this  field 

46 


Cfie    ^ong    of   tDe    CarDfnal 

again.  Fve  turned  it  every  spring  for  forty  year.  Bought 
it  when  I  was  a  young  fellow,  jest  married  to  Maria. 
Shouldered  a  big  debt  on  it;  but  I  always  loved  these 
slopin'  fields,  an'  my  share  of  this  old  Wabash  hasn't 
been  for  sale  nor  tradin*  any  time  this  past  forty  year. 
I've  hung  on  to  it  like  grim  death,  for  it's  jest  that  much 
o'  Paradise  I'm  plumb  sure  of.  First  time  I  plowed 
this  field,  Mr.  Redbird,  I  only  hit  the  high  places.  Jest 
married  Maria,  an'  I  didn't  touch  earth  any  too  frequent 
all  that  summer.  I've  plowed  it  every  year  since,  an* 
I've  been  'lowin'  all  this  winter,  when  the  rheumatiz  was 
gettin'  in  its  work,  'at  I'd  give  it  up  this  spring  an'  turn 
it  to  medder;  but  I  don't  know.  Once  I  got  started, 
b'lieve  I  could  go  it  all  right  an'  not  feel  it  so  much,  if 
you'd  stay  to  cheer  me  up  a  little  an'  post  me  on  the 
weather.  Hate  the  doggondest  to  own  I'm  worsted,  an* 
if  you  say  it's  stay,  b'lieve  I'll  try  it.  Very  sight  oj  you 
kinder  warms  the  cockles  o'  my  heart  all  up,  an'  every  skip 
you  take  sets  me  a-wantin'  to  be  jumpin',  too. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  lookin'  for?  Man!  I  b'lieve 
it's  grub!  Somebody's  been  feedin'  you !  An' you  want 
me  to  keep  it  up?  Well,  you  struck  it  all  right,  Mr.  Red- 
bird.  Feed  you?  You  bet  I  will!  You  needn't  even 
'rastle  for  grubs  if  you  don't  want  to.  Like  as  not  you're 

47 


Cbe   ^ong   of   tfte   Cardinal 

feelin'  hungry  right  now,  pickin'  bein'  so  slim  these  airly 
days.  Land's  sake!  I  hope  you  don't  feel  you've  come 
too  soon.  I'll  fetch  you  everything  on  the  place  it's 
likely  a  redbird  ever  teched,  airly  in  the  mornin'  if  you'll 
say  you'll  stay  an'  wave  your  torch  'long  my  river  bank 
this  summer.  I  haven't  a  scrap  about  me  now.  Yes,  I 
have,  too!  Here's  a  handful  o'  corn  I  was  takin'  to  the 
banty  rooster;  but  shucks!  he's  fat  as  a  young  shoat  now. 
Corn's  a  leetle  big  an'  hard  for  you.  Mebby  I  can  split 
it  up  a  mite." 

Abram  took  out  his  jack-knife,  and  dotting  a  row  of 
grains  along  the  top  rail,  he  split  and  shaved  them  down 
as  fine  as  possible;  and  as  he  reached  one  end  of  the 
rail,  the  Cardinal,  with  a  spasmodic  "Chip!"  dashed 
down  and  snatched  a  particle  from  the  other,  and 
flashed  back  to  the  bush,  tested,  approved,  and  chipped 
his  thanks. 

"Pshaw  now!"  said  Abram,  staring  wide-eyed. 
"Doesn't  that  beat  you?  So  you  really  are  a  pet?  Best 
kind  of  a  pet  in  the  whole  world,  too !  Makin'  everybody 
'at  sees  you  happy,  an'  havin'  some  chance  to  be  happy 
yourself.  An'  I  look  like  your  friend?  Well!  Well!  I'm 
monstrous  willin'  to  adopt  you  if  you'll  take  me;  an', 
as  for  f eedin',  from  to-morrow  on  Til  find  time  to  set  your 

48 


C&e    %ons   of   t&e    CarDfnal 

little  table  'long  this  same  rail  every  day.  I  s'pose  Maria 
'ull  say  'at  I'm  gone  plumb  crazy;  but,  for  that  matter,  if 
I  ever  get  her  down  to  see  you  jest  once,  the  trick's  done 
with  her,  too,  for  you're  the  prettiest  thing  God  ever  made 
in  the  shape  of  a  bird,  'at  I  ever  saw.  Look  at  that  top 
knot  a  wavin'  in  the  wind!  Maybe  praise  to  the  face  is 
open  disgrace;  but  I'll  take  your  share  an'  mine,  too,  an* 
tell  you  right  here  an'  now  'at  you're  the  blamedest  pretti 
est  thing  'at  I  ever  saw. 

"But  Lord!  You  ortn't  be  so  careless!  Don't  you 
know  you  ain't  nothin'  but  jest  a  target?  Why  don't 
you  keep  out  o'  sight  a  little?  You  come  a-shinneyin* 
up  to  nine  out  o'  ten  men  'long  the  river  like  this,  an'  your 
purty,  coaxin',  palaverin'  way  won't  save  a  feather  on 
you.  You'll  get  the  little  red  heart  shot  plumb  outen 
your  little  red  body,  an'  that's  what  you'll  get.  It's  a 
dratted  shame!  An'  there's  law  to  protect  you,  too. 
They's  a  good  big  fine  for  killin'  such  as  you,  but  nobody 
seems  to  push  it.  Every  fool  wants  to  test  his  aim, 
an'  you're  the  brightest  thing  on  the  river  bank  for  a 
mark. 

"Well,  if  you'll  stay  right  where  you  are,  it  'ull  be  a 
sorry  day  for  any  cuss  'at  teches  you;  'at  I'll  promise  you, 
Mr.  Redbird.  This  land's  mine,  an'  if  you  locate  on  it, 

49 


Cbe    §)ong    of   tfee    CatDinal 

you're  mine  till  time  to  go  back  to  that  other  old  fellow  'at 
looks  like  me.  Wonder  if  he's  any  willinger  to  feed  you 
an'  stand  up  for  you  'an  I  am?" 

"Here!  Here!  Here!"  whistled  the  Cardinal. 

"Well,  I'm  mighty  glad  if  you're  sayin'  you'll  stay! 
Guess  it  will  be  all  right  if  you  don't  meet  some  o'  them 
Limberlost  hens  an'  tole  off  to  the  swamp.  Lord!  the 
Limberlost  ain't  to  be  compared  with  the  river,  Mr.  Red- 
bird.  You're  foolish  if  you  go!  Talkin'  'bout  goin',  I 
must  be  goin'  myself,  or  Maria  will  be  comin'  down  the 
line  fence  with  the  lantern;  an',  come  to  think  of  it,  I'm 
a  little  moist,  not  to  say  downright  damp.  But  then  you 
warned  me,  didn't  you,  old  fellow?  Well,  I  told  Maria 
seein'  you  'ud  be  like  meetin'  folks,  an'  it  has  been- 
Good  deal  more'n  I  counted  on,  an'  I've  talked  more'n 
I  have  in  a  whole  year.  Hardly  think  now  'at  I've 
the  reputation  o'  being  a  mighty  quiet  fellow,  would 
you?" 

Abram  straightened  and  touched  his  hat  brim  in  a 
trim  half  military  salute.  "Well,  good-bye,  Mr.  Redbird. 
Never  had  more  pleasure  meetin'  anybody  in  my  life 
'cept  first  time  I  met  Maria.  You  think  about  the 
plowin',  an',  if  you  say  'stay',  it's  a  go!  Good-bye;  an* 
do  be  a  little  more  careful  o'  yourself.  See  you  in  the 

5° 


C6e   @ong   of   t6e   CatDfnal 

mornin',  right  after  breakfast,  no  count  taken  o*  the 
weather." 

"Wet  year!  Wet  year!"  called  the  Cardinal  after  his 
retreating  figure. 

Abram  turned  and  gravely  saluted  the  second  time. 
The  Cardinal  went  to  the  top  rail  and  feasted  on  the  sweet 
grains  of  corn  until  his  craw  was  full,  and  then  nestled  in 
the  sumac  and  went  to  sleep.  Early  next  morning  he 
was  abroad  and  in  fine  toilet,  and  with  a  full  voice  from 
the  top  of  the  sumac  greeted  the  day — "Wet  year!  Wet 
year!" 

Far  down  the  river  echoed  his  voice  until  it  so  closely 
resembled  some  member  of  his  family  replying  that  he 
followed,  searching  the  banks  mile  after  mile  on  either 
side,  until  finally  he  heard  voices  of  his  kind.  He  located 
them,  but  it  was  only  several  staid  old  couples,  a  long 
time  mated,  and  busy  with  their  nest-building.  The  Car 
dinal  returned  to  the  sumac,  feeling  a  degree  lonelier  than 
ever. 

He  decided  to  prospect  in  the  opposite  direction,  and 
taking  wing,  he  started  up  the  river.  Following  the 
channel,  he  winged  his  flight  for  miles  over  the  cool  spark 
ling  water,  between  the  tangle  of  foliage  bordering  the 
banks.  When  he  came  to  the  long  cumbrous  structures 

5* 


C6e   ^ong  of  t&e_CatDinat 


of  wood  with  which  men  had  bridged  the  river,  where  the 
shuffling  feet  of  tired  farm  horses  raised  clouds  of  dust 
and  set  the  echoes  rolling  with  their  thunderous  hoof 
beats,  he  was  afraid;  and  rising  high,  he  sailed  over  them 
in  short  broken  curves  of  flight.  But  where  giant  maple 
and  ash,  leaning,  locked  branches  across  the  channel  in 
one  of  old  Mother  Nature's  bridges  for  the  squirrels,  he 
knew  no  fear,  and  dipped  so  low  beneath  them  that  his 
image  trailed  a  wavering  shadow  on  the  silver  path  he 
followed. 

He  rounded  curve  after  curve,  and  frequently  stopping 
on  a  conspicuous  perch,  flung  a  ringing  challenge  hi  the 
face  of  the  morning.  With  every  mile  the  way  he  fol 
lowed  grew  more  beautiful.  The  river  bed  was  limestone, 
and  the  swiftly  flowing  water,  clear  and  limpid.  The 
banks  were  precipitate  in  some  places,  gently  sloping  in 
others,  and  always  crowded  with  a  tangle  of  foliage. 

At  an  abrupt  curve  in  the  river  he  mounted  to  the  sum 
mit  of  a  big  ash  and  made  boastful  prophecy,  "Wet  year! 
Wet  year!"  and  on  all  sides  there  sprang  up  the  voices  of 
his  kind.  Startled,  the  Cardinal  took  wing.  He  followed 
the  river  in  a  circling  flight  until  he  remembered  that  here 
might  be  the  opportunity  to  win  the  coveted  river  mate, 
and  going  slower  to  select  the  highest  branch  on  which  to 

52 


C&e   §ong    of   t&e    Cardinal 

display  his  charms,  he  discovered  that  he  was  only  a  few 
yards  from  the  ash  from  which  he  had  made  his  prediction. 
The  Cardinal  flew  over  the  narrow  neck  and  sent  another 
call,  then  without  awaiting  a  reply,  again  he  flashed  up  the 
river  and  circled  Horseshoe  Bend.  When  he  came  to  the 
same  ash  for  the  third  time,  he  understood. 

The  river  circled  in  one  great  curve.  The  Cardinal 
mounted  to  the  tip-top  limb  of  the  ash  and  looked  around 
him.  There  was  never  a  fairer  sight  for  the  eye  of  man  or 
bird.  The  mist  and  shimmer  of  early  spring  were  in  the 
air.  The  Wabash  rounded  Horseshoe  Bend  in  a  silver 
circle,  rimmed  by  a  tangle  of  foliage  bordering  both  its 
banks;  and  inside  lay  a  low  open  space  covered  with  wav 
ing  marsh  grass  and  the  blue  bloom  of  sweet  calamus. 
Scattered  around  were  mighty  trees,  but  conspicuous 
above  any,  in  the  very  center,  was  a  giant  sycamore,  split 
at  its  base  into  three  large  trees,  whose  waving  branches 
seemed  to  sweep  the  face  of  heaven,  and  whose  roots,  like 
miserly  fingers,  clutched  deep  into  the  black  muck  of 
Rainbow  Bottom. 

It  was  in  this  lovely  spot  that  the  rainbow  at  last  materi 
alized,  and  at  its  base,  free  to  all  humanity  who  cared  to 
seek,  the  Great  Alchemist  had  left  His  rarest  treasures — 
the  gold  of  sunshine,  diamond  water-drops,  emerald  foli- 

53 


C6c    ^ong    of   t&e    Cardinal 

age,  and  sapphire  sky.  For  good  measure,  there  were 
added  seeds,  berries,  and  insects  for  the  birds;  and  wild 
flowers,  fruit,  and  nuts  for  the  children.  Above  all,  the 
sycamore  waved  its  majestic  head. 

It  made  a  throne  that  seemed  suitable  for  the  son  of  the 
king;  and  mounting  to  its  topmost  branch,  for  miles  the 
river  carried  his  challenge:  "Ho,  cardinals!  Look  this 
way!  Behold  me!  Have  you  seen  any  other  of  so  great 
size?  Have  you  any  to  equal  my  grace?  Who  can  whistle 
so  loud,  so  clear,  so  compelling  a  note?  Who  will 
fly  to  me  for  protection?  Who  will  come  and  be  my 
mate?" 

He  flared  his  crest  high,  swelled  his  throat  with  rolling 
notes,  and  appeared  so  big  and  brilliant  that  among  the 
many  cardinals  that  had  gathered  to  hear,  there  was  not 
one  to  compare  with  him. 

Black  envy  filled  their  hearts.  Who  was  this  flaming 
dashing  stranger,  flaunting  himself  in  the  faces  of  their 
females?  There  were  many  unmated  cardinals  in  Rauv 
bow  Bottom,  and  many  jealous  males.  A  second  time 
the  Cardinal,  rocking  and  flashing,  proclaimed  himself; 
and  there  was  a  note  of  feminine  approval  so  strong  that 
ke  caught  it.  Tilting  on  a  twig,  his  crest  flared  to  full 
height,  his  throat  swelled  to  bursting,  his  heart  too  big 

54 


C&e   &ong   of   tbt   CatDfnal 

for  his  body,  the  Cardinal  shouted  his  challenge  for  the 
third  time;  when  clear  and  sharp  arose  a  cry  in  answer, 
"Here!  Here!  Here!"  It  came  from  a  female  that  had 
accepted  the  caresses  of  the  brightest  cardinal  in  Rainbow 
Bottom  only  the  day  before,  and  had  spent  the  morning 
carrying  twigs  to  a  thicket  of  red  haws. 

The  Cardinal,  with  a  royal  flourish,  sprang  in  air  to 
seek  her;  but  her  outraged  mate  was  ahead  of  him,  and 
with  a  scream  she  fled,  leaving  a  tuft  of  feathers  in  her 
mate's  beak.  In  turn  the  Cardinal  struck  him  like  a 
flashing  rocket,  and  then  red  war  waged  in  Rainbow  Bot 
tom.  The  females  scattered  for  cover  with  all  their 
might.  The  Cardinal  worked  in  a  kiss  on  one  poor  little 
bird,  too  frightened  to  escape  him;  then  the  males  closed 
in,  and  serious  business  began.  The  Cardinal  would  have 
enjoyed  a  fight  vastly  with  two  or  three  opponents;  but 
a  half-dozen  made  discretion  better  than  valour.  He 
darted  among  them,  scattering  them  right  and  left,  and 
made  for  the  sycamore.  With  all  his  remaining  breath, 
he  insolently  repeated  his  challenge;  and  then  headed 
down  stream  for  the  sumac  with  what  grace  he  could 
command. 

There  was  an  hour  of  angry  recrimination  before  sweet 
peace  brooded  again  in  Rainbow  Bottom.  The  newly 

57 


Cfce    ^onff    of   tbe   Cardinal 

mated  pair  finally  made  up;  the  females  speedily  resumed 
their  coquetting,  and  forgot  the  captivating  stranger — all 
save  the  poor  little  one  that  had  been  kissed  by  accident. 
She  never  had  been  kissed  before,  and  never  had  expected 
that  she  would  be,  for  she  was  a  creature  of  many  misfor 
tunes  of  every  nature. 

She  had  been  hatched  from  a  fifth  egg  to  begin  with; 
and  every  one  knows  the  disadvantage  of  beginning  life 
with  four  sturdy  older  birds  on  top  of  one.  It  was  a 
meager  egg,  and  a  feeble  baby  that  pipped  its  shell.  The 
remainder  of  the  family  stood  and  took  nearly  all  the  food 
so  that  she  almost  starved  in  the  nest,  and  she  never  really 
knew  the  luxury  of  a  hearty  meal  until  her  elders  had 
flown.  That  lasted  only  a  few  days;  for  the  others 
went  then,  and  their  parents  followed  them  so  far  afield 
that  the  poor  little  soul,  clamouring  alone  in  the  nest, 
almost  perished.  Hunger-driven,  she  climbed  to  the 
edge  and  exercised  her  wings  until  she  managed  some 
sort  of  flight  to  a  neighbouring  bush.  She  missed  the 
twig  and  fell  to  the  ground,  where  she  lay  cold  and 
shivering. 

She  cried  pitifully,  and  was  almost  dead  when  a  brown- 
faced,  barefoot  boy,  with  a  fishing-pole  on  his  shoulder, 
passed  and  heard  her. 

53 


C6e    %ong    of   tfje    Caruinal 

"Poor  little  thing,  you  are  almost  dead,"  he  said.  "I 
know  what  I'll  do  with  you.  I'll  take  you  over  and  set 
you  in  the  bushes  where  I  heard  those  other  redbirds,  and 
then  your  mammy  will  feed  you." 

The  boy  turned  back  and  carefully  set  her  on  a  limb 
close  to  one  of  her  brothers,  and  there  she  got  just  enough 
food  to  keep  her  alive. 

So  her  troubles  continued.  Once  a  squirrel  chased  her, 
and  she  saved  herself  by  crowding  into  a  hole  so  small  her 
pursuer  could  not  follow.  The  only  reason  she  escaped  a 
big  blue  racer  when  she  went  to  take  her  first  bath,  was 
that  a  hawk  had  his  eye  on  the  snake  and  snapped  it  up 
at  just  the  proper  moment  to  save  the  poor,  quivering 
little  bird.  She  was  left  so  badly  frightened  that  she 
could  not  move  for  a  long  tune. 

All  the  tribulations  of  birdland  fell  to  her  lot.  She  was 
so  frail  and  weak  she  lost  her  family  in  migration,  and 
followed  with  some  strangers  that  were  none  too  kind. 
Life  in  the  South  had  been  full  of  trouble.  Once  a  bullet 
grazed  her  so  closely  she  lost  two  of  her  wing  quills,  and 
that  made  her  more  timid  than  ever.  Coming  North,  she 
had  given  out  again  and  finally  had  wandered  into  Rain 
bow  Bottom,  lost  and  alone. 

She  was  such  a  shy,  fearsome  little  body,  the  females 

59 


C&e    &ong    of   t&e    Cardinal 

all  flouted  her;  and  the  males  never  seemed  to  notice  that 
there  was  material  in  her  for  a  very  fine  mate.  Every 
other  female  cardinal  in  Rainbow  Bottom  had  several 
males  courting  her,  but  this  poor,  frightened,  lonely  one 
had  never  a  suitor;  and  she  needed  love  so  badly!  No  one 
ever  before  had  sought  her;  now  she  had  been  kissed  by 
this  magnificent  stranger! 

Of  course,  she  knew  it  really  was  not  her  kiss.  He  had 
intended  it  for  the  bold  creature  that  had  answered  his 
challenge,  but  since  it  came  to  her,  it  was  hers,  in  a  way, 
after  all.  She  hid  in  the  underbrush  for  the  remainder  of 
the  day,  and  was  never  so  frightened  in  all  her  life.  She 
brooded  over  it  constantly,  and  morning  found  her  at  the 
down  curve  of  the  horseshoe,  straining  her  ears  for  the 
rarest  note  she  ever  had  heard.  All  day  she  hid  and 
waited,  and  the  following  days  were  filled  with  longing, 
but  he  never  came  again. 

So  one  morning,  possessed  with  courage  she  did  not 
understand,  and  filled  with  longing  that  drove  her  against 
her  will,  she  started  down  the  river.  For  miles  she  sneaked 
through  the  underbrush,  and  watched  and  listened;  until 
at  last  night  came,  and  she  returned  to  Rainbow  Bottom. 
The  next  morning  she  set  out  early  and  flew  to  the  spot 
from  which  she  had  turned  back  the  night  before.  From 

60 


C&e    ^ong    of   t&e    CatDinal 

there  she  glided  through  the  bushes  and  underbrush, 
trembling  and  quaking,  yet  pushing  stoutly  onward,  strain-* 
ing  her  ears  for  some  note  of  the  brilliant  stranger's. 

It  was  mid-forenoon  when  she  reached  the  region  of  the 
sumac,  and  as  she  hopped  warily  along,  only  a  short  dis 
tance  from  her,  full  and  splendid,  there  burst  the  voice  of 
the  singer  for  whom  she  was  searching.  Ske  sprang  into 
air,  and  fled  a  mile  before  she  realized  that  she  was  flying) 
Then  she  stopped  and  listened,  and  rolling  with  the  river, 
she  heard  those  bold  true  tones.  Close  to  earth,  she  went 
back  again,  to  see  if,  unobserved,  she  could  find  a  spot 
where  she  might  watch  the  stranger  that  had  kissed  her. 
When  at  last  she  reached  a  place  where  she  could  see  him 
plainly,  his  beauty  was  so  bewildering,  and  his  song  so 
enticing  that  she  gradually  hopped  closer  and  closer  with 
out  knowing  she  was  moving. 

High  in  the  sumac  the  Cardinal  had  sung  until  his 
throat  was  parched,  and  the  fountain  of  hope  was  almost 
dry.  There  was  nothing  save  defeat  from  overwhehning 
numbers  in  Rainbow  Bottom.  He  had  paraded,  and  made 
all  the  music  he  ever  had  been  taught,  and  improvised 
much  more.  Yet  no  one  had  come  to  seek  him.  Was  it 
of  necessity  to  be  the  Limberlost  then?  This  one  day 
more  he  would  retain  his  dignity  and  his  location.  He 

61 


Cfje    Sottg    of    tbe    Cardinal 

tipped,  tilted,  and  flirted.  He  whistled,  and  sang,  and 
trilled.  Over  the  lowland  and  up  and  down  the  shining 
river,  ringing  hi  every  change  he  could  invent,  he  sent  for 
the  last  time  his  prophetic  message,  "Wet  year!  Wet 
year!" 


"Come  here!  Come  here!"  entreated  the  Cardinal 


He  felt  that  his  music  was 
not  reaching  his  standard  as 
he  burst  into  this  new  song. 
He  was  almost  discouraged. 
No  way  seemed  open  to  him 
but  flight  to  the  Limberlost, 
and  he  so  disdained  the  swamp 
that  love-making  would  lose 
something  of  its  greatest 
charm  if  he  were  driven  there 
for  a  mate.  The  time  seemed 
ripe  loi  stringent  measures, 
and  the  Cardinal  was  ready  to  take  them;  but  how  could 
he  stringently  urge  a  little  mate  that  would  not  come  on 
his  imploring  invitations?  He  listlessly  pecked  at  the 
berries  and  flung  abroad  an  inquiring  "Chip!"  With 
just  an  atom  of  hope,  he  frequently  mounted  to  his  choir- 
loft  and  issued  an  order  that  savoured  far  more  of  a  plea, 
"Come  here!  Come  here!"  and  then,  leaning,  he  listened 


Cbe   §ong   of   t&c   Cardinal 

intently  to  the  voice  of  the  river,  lest  he  fail  to  catch  the 
faintest  responsive  "Chook!"  it  might  bear. 

He  could  hear  the  sniffling  of  carp  wallowing  beside 
the  bank.  A  big  pickerel  slashed  around,  breakfasting  on 
minnows.  Opposite  the  sumac,  the  black  bass,  with 
gamy  spring,  snapped  up,  before  it  struck  the  water,  every 
luckless,  honey-laden  insect  that  fell  from  the  feast  of 
sweets  in  a  blossom-whitened  wild  crab.  The  sharp 
bark  of  the  red  squirrel  and  the  low  of  cattle,  lazily  chew 
ing  their  cuds  among  the  willows,  came  to  him.  The 
hammering  of  a  woodpecker  on  a  dead  sycamore,  a  little 
above  him,  rolled  to  his  straining  ears  like  a  drum  beat. 

The  Cardinal  hated  the  woodpecker  more  than  he  dis 
liked  the  dove.  It  was  only  foolishly  effusive,  but  the 
woodpecker  was  a  veritable  Bluebeard.  The  Cardinal 
longed  to  pull  the  feathers  from  his  back  until  it  was  as 
red  as  his  head,  for  the  woodpecker  had  dressed  his  suit 
in  finest  style,  and  with  dulcet  tones  and  melting  tender 
ness  had  gone  a-courting.  Sweet  as  the  dove's  had  been 
his  wooing,  and  one  more  pang  the  lonely  Cardinal  had 
suffered  at  being  forced  to  witness  his  felicity;  yet  scarcely 
had  his  plump,  amiable  little  mate  consented  to  his 
caresses  and  approved  the  sycamore,  before  he  turned  on 
her,  pecked  her  severely,  and  pulled  a  tuft  of  plumage 

64 


Cfje   @>on0   of   tlje   Cardinal 

from  her  breast.  There  was  not  the  least  excuse  for  this 
tyrannical  action;  and  the  sight  filled  the  Cardinal  with, 
rage.  He  fully  expected  to  see  Madam  Woodpecker 
divorce  herself  and  flee  her  new  home,  and  he  most  ear 
nestly  hoped  that  she  would;  but  she  did  no  such  thing. 
She  meekly  flattened  her  feathers,  hurried  work  in  a 
lively  manner,  and  tried  in  every  way  to  anticipate  and 
avert  her  mate's  displeasure.  Under  this  treatment  he 
grew  more  abusive,  and  now  Madam  Woodpecker  dodged 
every  time  she  came  within  his  reach.  It  made  the  Car 
dinal  feel  so  vengeful  that  he  longed  to  go  up  and  drum 
the  sycamore  with  the  woodpecker's  head  until  he  taught 
him  how  to  treat  his  mate  properly. 

There  was  plenty  of  lark  music  rolling  with  the  river, 
and  that  morning  brought  the  first  liquid  golden  notes  of 
the  orioles.  They  had  arrived  at  dawn,  and  were  over 
joyed  with  their  home-coming,  for  they  were  darting  from 
bank  to  bank  singing  exquisitely  on  wing.  There  seemed 
no  end  to  the  bird  voices  that  floated  with  the  river,  and 
yet  there  was  no  beginning  to  the  one  voice  for  which  the 
Cardinal  waited  with  passionate  longing. 

The  oriole's  singing  was  so  inspiring  that  it  tempted  the 
Cardinal  to  another  effort,  and  perching  where  he  gleamed 
crimson  and  black  against  the  April  sky,  he  tested  his 

67 


Cfce    §on0    of   t&e    Cardinal 

voice,  and  when  sure  of  his  tones,  he  entreatingly  called? 
"  Come  here !  Come  here ! ' ' 

Just  then  he  saw  her !  She  came  daintily  over  the  earth, 
soft  as  down  before  the  wind,  a  rosy  flush  suffusing  her 
plumage,  a  coral  beak,  her  very  feet  pink — the  shyest, 
most  timid  little  thing  alive.  Her  bright  eyes  were 
popping  with  fear,  and  down  there  among  the  ferns, 
anemones  and  last  year's  dried  leaves,  she  tilted  her 
sleek  crested  head  and  peered  at  him  with  frightened 
wonder. 

<  It  was  for  this  the  Cardinal  had  waited,  hoped,  and 
planned  for  many  days.  He  had  rehearsed  what  he  con 
ceived  to  be  every  point  of  the  situation,  and  yet  he  was 
not  prepared  for  the  thing  that  suddenly  happened  to  him. 
He  had  expected  to  reject  many  applicants  before  he 
selected  one  to  match  his  charms;  but  instantly  this  shy 
little  creature,  slipping  along  near  earth,  taking  a  sur 
reptitious  peep  at  him,  made  him  feel  a  very  small  bird, 
and  he  certainly  never  before  had  felt  small.  The  crush' 
ing  possibility  that  somewhere  there  might  be  a  cardinal 
that  was  larger,  brighter,  and  a  finer  musician  than  he, 
staggered  him;  and  worst  of  all,  his  voice  broke  suddenly. 

Half  screened  by  the  flowers,  she  seemed  so  little,  so 
shy,  so  delightfully  sweet.  He  "chipped"  carefully  once 

68 


Cfje    ^>ong    of   tfjc    CatDfnal 

or  twice  to  steady  himself  and  clear  his  throat,  for  un 
accountably  it  had  grown  dry  and  husky;  and  then  he 
tenderly  tried  again.  "  Come  here !  Come  here ! "  implored 
the  Cardinal.  He  forgot  all  about  his  dignity.  He  knew 
that  his  voice  was  trembling  with  eagerness  and  hoarse 
with  fear.  He  was  afraid  to  attempt  approaching  her, 
but  he  leaned  toward  her,  begging  and  pleading.  He 
teased  and  insisted,  and  he  did  not  care  a  particle  if  he 
did.  It  suddenly  seemed  an  honour  to  coax  her.  He 
rocked  on  the  limb.  He  side-stepped  and  hopped  and 
gyrated  gracefully.  He  fluffed  and  flirted  and  showed 
himself  to  every  advantage.  It  never  occurred  to  him 
that  the  dove  and  the  woodpecker  might  be  wratching, 
though  he  would  not  have  cared  in  the  least  if  they  had 
been;  and  as  for  any  other  cardinal,  he  would  have  at 
tacked  the  combined  forces  of  the  Limberlost  and  Rain 
bow  Bottom. 

He  sang  and  sang.  Every  impulse  of  passion  in  his 
big,  crimson,  palpitating  body  was  thrown  into  those  notes; 
but  she  only  turned  her  head  from  side  to  side,  peering 
at  him,  seeming  sufficiently  frightened  to  flee  at  a  breath, 
and  answered  not  even  the  faintest  little  "Chook!"  of 
encouragement. 

The  Cardinal  rested  a  second  before  he  tried  again. 

69 


€0e    §ong    of   t&e    CatOfnal 


That  steadied  him  and  gave  him  better  command  of 
himself.  He  could  tell  that  his  notes  were  clearing  and 
growing  sweeter.  He  was  improving.  Perhaps  she  was 
interested.  There  was  some  encouragement  in  the  fact 
that  she  was  still  there.  The  Cardinal  felt  that  his  time 
had  come. 

"Come  here!  Come  here!"  He  was  on  his  mettle  now. 
Surely  no  cardinal  could  sing  fuller,  clearer,  sweeter  notes! 
He  began  at  the  very  first,  and  rollicked  through  a  story 
of  adventure,  colouring  it  with  every  wild,  dashing, 
catchy  note  he  could  improvise.  He  followed  that  with  a 
rippling  song  of  the  joy  and  fulness  of  spring,  in  notes  as 
light  and  airy  as  the  wind-blown  soul  of  melody,  and  with 
swaying  body  kept  time  to  his  rhythmic  measures.  Then 
he  glided  into  a  song  of  love,  and  tenderly,  pleadingly, 
passionately,  told  the  story  as  only  a  courting  bird  can 
tell  it.  Then  he  sang  a  song  of  ravishment  ;  a  song  quaver 
ing  with  fear  and  the  pain  tugging  at  his  heart.  He  al 
most  had  run  the  gamut,  and  she  really  appeared  far 
more  as  if  she  intended  to  flee  than  to  come  to  him. 
He  was  afraid  to  take  even  one  timid  little  hop  toward 
her. 

In  a  fit  of  desperation  the  Cardinal  burst  into  the  passion 

song.    He  arose  to  his  full  height,  leaned  toward  her  with 

70 


€6e   &on0   of   t&e   Cardinal 


outspread  quivering  wings,  and  crest  flared  to  the  utmost, 
and  rocking  from  side  to  side  in  the  intensity  of  his  fer 
vour,  he  poured  out  a  perfect  torrent  of  palpitant  song. 
His  cardinal  body  swayed  to  the  rolling  flood  of  his  ecstatic 
tones,  until  he  appeared  like  a  flaming  pulsing  note  of 
materialized  music,  as  he  entreated,  coaxed,  commanded, 
and  plead.  From  sheer  exhaustion,  he  threw  up  his 
head  to  round  off  the  last  note  he  could  utter,  and  breath 
lessly  glancing  down  to  see  if  she  were  coming,  caught 
sight  of  a  faint  streak  of  gray  in  the  distance.  He  had 
planned  so  to  subdue  the  little  female  he  courted  that  she 
would  come  to  him;  he  was  in  hot  pursuit  a  half  day's 
journey  away  before  he  remembered  it. 

No  other  cardinal  ever  endured  such  a  chase  as  she  led 
him  in  the  following  days.  Through  fear  and  timidity 
she  had  kept  most  of  her  life  in  the  underbrush.  The 
Cardinal  was  a  bird  of  the  open  fields  and  tree-tops.  He 
loved  to  rock  with  the  wind,  and  speed  arrow-like  in  great 
plunges  of  flight.  This  darting  and  twisting  over  logs, 
among  leaves,  and  through  tangled  thickets,  tired,  tried, 
and  exasperated  him  more  than  hundreds  of  miles  of  open 
flight.  Sometimes  he  drove  her  from  cover,  and  then  she 
wildly  dashed  up-hill  and  down-dale,  seeking  another 
thicket;  but  wherever  she  went,  the  Cardinal  was  only  a 


C&e   %ong   of   tjje   CatDtnal 

breath  behind  her,  and  with  every  passing  mile  his  passion 
for  her  grew. 

There  was  no  time  to  eat,  bathe,  or  sing;  only  mile  after 
mile  of  unceasing  pursuit.  It  seemed  that  the  little  creat 
ure  could  not  stop  if  she  would,  and  as  for  the  Cardinal, 
he  was  in  that  chase  to  remain  until  his  last  heart-beat. 
It  was  a  question  how  the  frightened  bird  kept  in  advance. 
She  was  visibly  the  worse  for  this  ardent  courtship.  Two 
tail  feathers  were  gone,  and  there  was  a  broken  one  beating 
from  her  wing.  Once  she  had  flown  too  low,  striking  her 
head  against  a  rail  until  a  drop  of  blood  came,  and  she 
cried  pitifully.  Several  times  the  Cardinal  had  cornered 
her,  and  tried  to  hold  her  by  a  bunch  of  feathers,  and 
compel  her  by  force  to  listen  to  reason;  but  she  only  broke 
from  his  hold  and  dashed  away  a  stricken  thing,  leaving 
"him  half  dead  with  longing  and  remorse. 

But  no  matter  how  baffled  she  grew,  or  where  she  fled 
in  her  headlong  flight,  the  one  thing  she  always  remem 
bered,  was  not  to  lead  the  Cardinal  into  the  punishment 
that  awaited  him  in  Rainbow  Bottom.  Panting  for 
breath,  quivering  with  fear,  longing  for  well-concealed 
retreats,  worn  and  half  blinded  by  the  disasters  of  flight 
through  strange  country,  the  tired  bird  beat  her  aimless 
way;  but  she  would  have  been  torn  to  pieces  before  she 

72 


€i)e    ^ong    of    t&e    Cardinal 

would  have  led  her  magnificent  pursuer  into  the  wrath 
of  his  enemies. 

Poor  little  feathered  creature!  She  had  been  fleeing 
some  kind  of  danger  all  her  life.  She  could  not  realize 
that  love  and  protection  had  come  in  this  splendid  guise, 
and  she  fled  on  and  on. 

Once  the  Cardinal,  aching  with  passion  and  love,  fell 
behind  that  she  might  rest,  and  before  he  realized  that 
another  bird  was  close,  an  impudent  big  relative  of  his, 
straying  from  the  Limberlost,  entered  the  race  and  pur 
sued  her  so  hotly  that  with  a  note  of  utter  panic  she 
wheeled  and  darted  back  to  the  Cardinal  for  protection. 
When  to  the  rush  of  rage  that  possessed  him  at  the  sight 
of  a  rival  was  added  the  knowledge  that  she  was  seeking 
him  in  her  extremity,  such  a  mighty  wave  of  anger  swept 
the  Cardinal  that  he  appeared  twice  his  real  size.  Like  a 
flaming  brand  of  vengeance  he  struck  that  Limberlost 
upstart,  and  sent  him  rolling  to  earth,  a  mass  of  battered 
feathers.  With  beak  and  claw  he  made  his  attack,  and 
when  he  so  utterly  demolished  his  rival  that  he  hopped 
away  trembling,  with  dishevelled  plumage  stained  with  his 
own  blood,  the  Cardinal  remembered  his  little  love  and 
hastened  back,  confidently  hoping  for  his  reward. 

She  was  so  securely  hidden,  that  although  he  went 

73 


Cte   9ong   of  tfje   CatDfnal 

searching,  calling,  pleading,  he  found  no  trace  of  her  the 
remainder  of  that  day.  The  Cardinal  almost  went  dis 
tracted;  and  his  tender  imploring  cries  would  have  moved 
any  except  a  panic-stricken  bird.  He  did  not  even  know 
in  what  direction  to  pursue  her.  Night  closed  down,  and 
found  him  in  a  fever  of  love-sick  fear,  but  it  brought  rest 
and  wisdom.  She  could  not  have  gone  very  far.  She 
was  too  worn.  He  would  not  proclaim  his  presence. 
Soon  she  would  suffer  past  enduring  for  food  and  water.  - 

He  hid  in  the  willows  close  where  he  had  lost  her,  and 
waited  with  what  patience  he  could;  and  it  was  a  wise  plan. 
Shortly  after  dawn,  moving  stilly  as  the  break  of  day, 
trembling  with  fear,  she  came  slipping  to  the  river  for  a 
drink.  It  was  almost  brutal  cruelty,  but  her  fear  must 
be  overcome  someway;  and  with  a  cry  of  triumph  the 
Cardinal,  in  a  plunge  of  flight,  was  beside  her.  She  gave 
him  one  stricken  look,  and  dashed  away.  The  chase 
began  once  more  and  continued  until  she  was  visibly 
breaking. 

There  was  no  room  for  a  rival  that  morning.  The 
Cardinal  flew  abreast  of  her  and  gave  her  a  caress  or  at 
tempted  a  kiss  whenever  he  found  the  slightest  chance. 
She  was  almost  worn  out,  her  flights  were  wavering  and 
growing  shorter.  The  Cardinal  did  his  utmost.  If  she 

74 


C&e   §ong   of   t&e    Cat&fnal 

paused  to  rest,  he  crept  close  as  he  dared,  and  piteously 
begged:  "Come  here!  Come  here!" 

When  she  took  wing,  he  so  dexterously  intercepted  her 
course  that  several  times  she  found  refuge  in  his  sumac 
without  realizing  where  she  was.  When  she  did  that,  he 
perched  just  as  closely  as  he  dared;  and  while  they  both 
rested,  he  sang  to  her  a  soft  little  whispered  love  song, 
deep  in  his  throat;  and  with  every  note  he  gently  edged 
nearer.  She  turned  her  head  from  him,  and  although 
she  was  panting  for  breath  and  palpitant  with  fear,  the 
Cardinal  knew  that  he  dared  not  go  closer,  or  she  would 
dash  away  like  the  wild  thing  she  was.  The  next  time 
she  took  whig,  she  found  him  so  persistently  in  her  course 
that  she  turned  sharply  and  fled  panting  to  the  sumac. 
When  this  had  happened  so  often  that  she  seemed  to 
recognize  the  sumac  as  a  place  of  refuge,  the  Cardinal 
slipped  aside  and  spent  all  his  remaining  breath  in  an  ex 
ultant  whistle  of  triumph,  for  now  he  was  beginning  to  see 
his  way.  He  dashed  into  mid-air,  and  with  a  gyration 
that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  flycatcher,  he  snapped  up 
a  gadfly. 

With  a  tender  "Chip!"  from  branch  to  branch,  slowly, 
cautiously,  he  came  with  it.  Because  he  was  half  starved 
himself,  he  knew  that  she  must  be  almost  famished. 

75 


Cfce    ^>ong    of   t&c    CarDina! 


Holding  it  where  she  could  see,  he  hopped  toward  her, 
eagerly,  carefully,  the  gadfly  in  his  beak,  his  heart  in  his 
mouth.  He  stretched  his  neck  and  legs  to  the  limit  as  he 
reached  the  fly  toward  her.  What  matter  that  she  took  it 
with  a  snap,  and  plunged  a  quarter  of  a  mile  before  eating 
it?  She  had  taken  food  from  him!  That  was  the  be 
ginning.  Cautiously  he  impelled  her  toward  the  sumac, 
and  with  untiring  patience  kept  her  there  the  remainder 
of  the  day.  He  carried  her  every  choice  morsel  he  could 
find  hi  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  sumac,  and  occa 
sionally  she  took  a  bit  from  his  beak,  though  oftenest  he 
was  compelled  to  lay  it  on  a  limb  beside  her.  At  dusk  she 
repeatedly  dashed  toward  the  underbrush;  but  the  Cardi 
nal,  with  endless  patience  and  tenderness,  maneuvered 
her  to  the  sumac,  until  she  gave  up,  and  beneath  the 
shelter  of  a  neighbouring  grape-vine,  perched  on  a  limb 
that  was  the  Cardinal's  own  chosen  resting-place,  tucked 
her  tired  head  beneath  her  wing,  and  went  to  rest.  When 
she  was  soundly  sleeping,  the  Cardinal  crept  as  closely 
as  he  dared,  and  with  one  eye  on  his  little  gray  love,  and 
the  other  roving  for  any  possible  danger,  he  spent  a  night 
of  watching. 

He  was  almost  worn  out;  but  this  was  infinitely  better 
than  the  previous  night,  at  any  rate,  for  now  he  not  only 

76 


**WITH  TENDER,  THROATY  MURMURINGS  HE  SLOWLY  EDGED 

NEARER" 


Cfje    @>ong    of    t&e    CatDfnal 

knew  where  she  was,  but  she  was  fast  asleep  in  his  own 
favourite  place.  Huddled  on  the  limb,  the  Cardinal 
gloated  over  her.  He  found  her  beauty  perfect.  To  be 
sure,  she  was  dishevelled;  but  she  could  make  her  toilet. 
There  were  a  few  feathers  gone ;  but  they  would  grow  speed 
ily.  She  made  a  heart-satisfying  picture,  on  which  the 
Cardinal  feasted  his  love-sick  soul,  by  the  light  of  every 
straying  moonbeam  that  slid  around  the  edges  of  the 
grape  leaves. 

Wave  after  wave  of  tender  passion  shook  him.  In  his 
throat  half  the  night  he  kept  softly  calling  to  her:  "  Come 
here!  Come  here!" 

Next  morning,  when  the  robins  announced  day  beside 
the  shining  river,  she  awoke  with  a  start;  but  before  she 
could  decide  in  which  direction  to  fly,  she  discovered  a 
nice  fresh  grub  laid  on  the  limb  close  to  her,  and  very 
sensibly  remained  for  breakfast.  Then  the  Cardinal 
went  to  the  river  and  bathed.  He  made  such  delightful 
play  of  it,  and  the  splash  of  the  water  sounded  so  refresh 
ing  to  the  tired  draggled  bird,  that  she  could  not  resist 
venturing  for  a  few  dips.  When  she  wras  wet  she  could 
not  fly  well,  and  he  improved  the  opportunity  to  pull  her 
broken  quills,  help  her  dress  herself,  and  bestow  a  few 
extra  caresses.  He  guided  her  to  his  favourite  place  for 

79 


C6c   ^ottff   of   t&e   CatDfnal 

a  sun  bath;  and  followed  the  farmer's  plow  in  the  corn 
field  until  he  found  a  big  sweet  beetle.  He  snapped  off 
its  head,  peeled  the  stiff  wing  shields,  and  daintily  offered 
it  to  her.  He  was  so  delighted  when  she  took  it  from  his 
beak,  and  remained  in  the  sumac  to  eat  it,  that  he  estab 
lished  himself  on  an  adjoining  thorn-bush,  where  the 
snowy  blossoms  of  a  wild  morning-glory  made  a  fine  back 
ground  for  his  scarlet  coat.  He  sang  the  old  pleading 
song  as  he  never  had  sung  it  before,  for  now  there  was  a 
tinge  of  hope  battling  with  the  fear  in  his  heart. 

Over  and  over  he  sang,  rounding,  fulling,  swelling 
every  note,  leaning  toward  her  in  coaxing  tenderness, 
flashing  his  brilliant  beauty  as  he  swayed  and  rocked,  for 
her  approval;  and  all  that  he  had  suffered  and  all  that  he 
hoped  for  was  in  his  song.  Just  when  his  heart  was  grow 
ing  sick  within  him,  his  straining  ear  caught  the  faintest, 
most  timid  call  a  lover  ever  answered.  Only  one  implor 
ing,  gentle  "Chook!"  from  the  sumac!  His  song  broke 
in  a  suffocating  burst  of  exultation.  Cautiously  he  hopped 
from  twig  to  twig  toward  her.  With  tender  throaty  mur- 
murings  he  slowly  edged  nearer,  and  wonder  of  wonders! 
with  tired  eyes  and  quivering  wings,  she  reached  him  her 
beak  for  a  kiss. 

At  dinner  that  day,  the  farmer  said  to  his  wife: 

80 


C6e   ^ong    of   tfce   CatDlnal 

"Maria,  if  you  want  to  hear  the  prettiest  singin',  an' 
see  the  cutest  sight  you  ever  saw,  jest  come  down  along 
the  line  fence  an'  watch  the  antics  o'  that  redbird  we  been, 
hearin'." 

"I  don't  know  as  redbirds  are  so  scarce  'at  I've  any  call 
to  wade  through  slush  a  half-mile  to  see  one,"  answered 
Maria. 

"Footin's  pretty  good  along  the  line  fence,"  said  Abram, 
"an'  you  never  saw  a  redbird  like  this  fellow.  He's  as 
big  as  any  two  common  ones.  He's  so  red  every  bush  he 
lights  on  looks  like  it  was  afire.  It's  past  all  question, 
he's  been  somebody's  pet,  an'  he's  taken  me  for  the  man. 
I  can  get  in  six  feet  of  him  easy.  He's  the  finest  bird  I 
ever  set  eyes  on;  an'  as  for  singin',  he's  dropped  the 
weather,  an'  he's  askin'  folks  to  his  housewarmin'  to-day. 
He's  been  there  alone  for  a  week,  an'  his  singin's  been 
first-class;  but  to-day  he's  picked  up  a  mate,  an'  he's  as 
tickled  as  ever  I  was.  I  am  really  consarned  for  fear  he'll 
burst  himself." 

Maria  sniffed. 

"Course,  don't  come  if  you're  tired,  honey,"  said  tne 
farmer.  "  I  thought  maybe  you'd  enjoy  it.  He's  a-douV 
me  a  power  o'  good.  My  joints  are  limbered  up  till  I 
catch  myself  pretty  near  runnin',  on  the  up  furrow,  an' 

81 


Cfte   §ong   of   t&e   Car&inal 

then,  down  towards  the  fence,  I  go  slow  so's  to  stay  near 
him  as  long  as  I  can." 

Maria  stared.  ' '  Abram  Johnson,  have  you  gone  daft?  " 
she  demanded. 

Abram  chuckled.  "Not  a  mite  dafter'n  you'll  be, 
honey,  once  you  set  eyes  on  the  fellow.  Better  come,  if 
you  can.  You're  invited.  He's  askin'  the  whole  endurin* 
country  to  come." 

Maria  said  nothing  more;  but  she  mentally  decided  she 
had  no  time  to  fool  with  a  bird,  when  there  were  house 
keeping  and  spring  sewing  to  do.  As  she  recalled  Abram's 
enthusiastic  praise  of  the  singer,  and  had  a  \vhiff  of  the 
odour-laden  air  as  she  passed  from  kitchen  to  spring- 
house,  she  was  compelled  to  admit  that  it  was  a  tempta 
tion  to  go;  but  she  finished  her  noon  work  and  resolutely 
sat  down  with  her  needle.  She  stitched  industriously,  her 
thread  straightening  with  a  quick  nervous  sweep,  learned 
through  years  of  experience;  and  if  her  eyes  wandered 
riverward,  and  if  she  paused  frequently  with  arrested 
hand  and  listened  intently,  she  did  not  realize  it.  By  two 
o'clock,  a  spirit  of  unrest  that  demanded  recognition  had 
taken  possession  of  her.  Setting  her  lips  firmly,  a  scowl 
clouding  her  brow,  she  stitched  on.  By  half  past  two  her 
hands  dropped  in  her  lap,  A-bram's  new  hickory  shirt  slid 

82 


C&e   &ong   of  tfje   CatDfnal 

to  the  floor,  and  she  hesitatingly  arose  and  crossed  the 
room  to  the  closet,  from  which  she  took  her  overshoes,  and 
set  them  by  the  kitchen  fire,  to  have  them  ready  in  case 
she  wanted  them. 

"Pshaw!"  she  muttered,  "I  got  this  shirt  to  finish  this 
afternoon.  There's  butter  an'  bakin'  in  the  morniny, 
an'  Mary  Jane  Simms  is  comin'  for  a  visit  in  the  after 
noon." 

She  returned  to  the  window  and  took  up  the  shirt,  sew 
ing  with  unusual  swiftness  for  the  next  half -hour;  but 
by  three  she  dropped  it,  and  opening  the  kitchen  door, 
gazed  toward  the  river. 

Every  intoxicating  delight  of  early  spring  was  in  the  air. 
The  breeze  that  fanned  her  cheek  was  laden  with  subtle 
perfume  of  pollen  and  the  crisp  fresh  odour  of  unfolding 
leaves.  Curling  skyward,  like  a  beckoning  finger,  went 
a  spiral  of  violet  and  gray  smoke  from  the  log  heap  Abram 
was  burning;  and  scattered  over  spaces  of  a  mile  were  half  a 
dozen  others,  telling  a  story  of  the  activity  of  his  neigh 
bours.  Like  the  low  murmur  of  distant  music  came  the 
beating  wings  of  hundreds  of  her  bees,  rimming  the 
water  trough,  insane  with  thirst.  On  the  wood-pile  the 
guinea  cock  clattered  incessantly:  "Phut  rack!  Phut 
rack!"  Across  the  dooryard  came  the  old  turkey-gobbler 

85 


e   §ong   of   t&e   CarDinal 


with  fan  tail  and  a  rasping  scrape  of  wing,  evincing  his 
delight  in  spring  and  mating  time  by  a  series  of  explosive 
snorts.  On  the  barnyard  gate  the  old  shanghai  was 
lustily  challenging  to  mortal  combat  one  of  his  kind  three 
miles  across  country.  From  the  river  arose  the  strident 
scream  of  her  blue  gander  jealously  guarding  his  harem. 
In  the  poultry-yard  the  hens  made  a  noisy  cackling  party, 
and  the  stable  lot  was  filled  with  cattle  bellowing  for  the 
freedom  of  the  meadow  pasture,  as  yet  scarcely  ready  for 
grazing.  It  seemed  to  the  little  woman,  hesitating  in  the 
doorway,  as  if  all  nature  had  entered  into  a  conspiracy 
to  lure  her  from  her  work,  and  just  then,  clear  and  im 
perious,  arose  the  demand  of  the  Cardinal:  "Come  here! 
Come  here!" 

Blank  amazement  filled  her  face.  "As  I'm  a  livrn* 
woman!"  she  gasped.  "He's  changed  his  song!  That's 
what  Abram  meant  by  me  bein'  invited.  He's  askin' 
folks  to  see  his  mate.  I'm  goin'." 

The  dull  red  of  excitement  sprang  into  her  cheeks.  She 
hurried  on  her  overshoes,  and  drew  an  old  shawl  over  her 
head.  She  crossed  the  dooryard,  followed  the  path 
through  the  orchard,  and  came  to  the  lane.  Below  the 
barn  she  turned  back  and  attempted  to  cross.  The  mud 
was  deep  and  thick,  and  she  lost  an  overshoe;  but  with 

86 


^ong   of  tfce   Cardinal 


the  help  of  a  stick  she  pried  it  out,  and  balancing  on  the 
other  foot,  replaced  it. 

"Joke  on  me  if  I'd  a-tumbled  over  in  this  mud,"  she 
muttered. 

She  entered  the  barn,  and  came  out  a  minute  later, 
carefully  closing  and  buttoning  the  door,  and  recrossing 
the  lane,  started  down  the  line  fence  toward  the  river. 

Half-way  across  the  field  Abram  saw  her  coming.  No 
need  to  recount  how  often  he  had  looked  in  that  direction 
during  the  afternoon.  He  slapped  the  lines  on  the  old 
gray's  back  and  came  tearing  down  the  slope,  his  eyes 
flashing,  his  cheeks  red,  his  hands  firmly  gripping  the 
plow  that  rolled  up  a  line  of  black  mould  as  he  passed. 

Maria,  staring  at  his  flushed  face  and  shining  eyes, 
recognized  that  his  whole  being  proclaimed  an  inward 
exultation. 

"Abram  Johnson,"  she  solemnly  demanded,  "have  you 
got  the  power?  " 

"Yes,"  cried  Abram,  pulling  off  his  old  felt  hat,  and 
gazing  into  the  crown  as  if  for  inspiration.  "You've  said 
it,  honey!  I  got  the  power!  Got  it  of  a  little  red  bird! 
Power  o'  spring!  Power  o'  song!  Power  o'  love!  If 
that  poor  little  red  target  for  some  ornery  cuss's  bullet 
can  get  all  he's  getting  out  o'  life  to-day,  there's  no  cause 

87 


C&e    ^otiff    of   tie    CarDinal 


why  a  reasonin'  thinkin'  man  shouldn't  realize  some  o* 
his  blessings.  You  hit  it,  Maria;  I  got  the  power.  It's 
the  power  o'  God,  but  I  learned  how  to  lay  hold  of  it  from 
that  little  red  bird.  Come  here,  Maria!" 

Abram  wrapped  the  lines  around  the  plow  handle,  and 
cautiously  led  his  wife  to  the  fence.  He  found  a  piece  of 
thick  bark  for  her  to  stand  on,  and  placed  her  where  she 
would  be  screened  by  a  big  oak.  Then  he  stood  behind 
her  and  pointed  out  the  sumac  and  the  female  bird. 

"Jest  you  keep  still  a  minute,  an'  you'll  feel  paid  for 
comin'  all  right,  honey,"  he  whispered. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  ever  saw  a  worse-lookin'  specimen 
'an  she  is,"  answered  Maria. 

"She  looks  first-class  to  him.  There's  no  kick  comin' 
on  his  part,  I  can  tell  you,"  replied  Abram. 

The  bride  hopped  shyly  through  the  sumac.  She 
pecked  at  the  dried  berries,  and  frequently  tried  to  improve 
her  plumage,  which  certainly  had  been  badly  draggled; 
and  there  was  a  drop  of  blood  dried  at  the  base  of  her 
beak.  She  plainly  showed  the  effects  of  her  rough  experi 
ence,  and  yet  she  was  a  most  attractive  bird;  for  the  dim- 
pies  in  her  plump  body  showed  through  the  feathers,  and 
instead  of  the  usual  wickedly  black  eyes  of  the  cardinal 
family,  hers  were  a  soft  tender  brown  touched  by  a 

88 


Cfte   §ong   of   tfce   Caminal 

light  there  was  no  mistaking.  She  was  a  beautiful  bird, 
and  she  was  doing  all  in  her  power  to  make  herself  dainty 
again.  Her  movements  clearly  indicated  how  timid  she 
was,  and  yet  she  remained  in  the  sumac  as  if  she  feared  to 
leave  it;  and  frequently  peered  expectantly  among  the 
tree-tops. 

There  was  a  burst  of  exultation  down  the  river.  The 
little  bird  gave  her  plumage  a  fluff,  and  watched  anxiously. 
On  came  the  Cardinal  like  a  flaming  rocket,  calling  to  her 
on  wing.  He  alighted  beside  her,  dropped  into  her  beak 
a  morsel  of  food,  gave  her  a  kiss  to  aid  digestion,  caress 
ingly  ran  his  beak  the  length  of  her  wing  quills,  and  flew 
to  the  dogwood.  Mrs.  Cardinal  enjoyed  the  meal.  It 
struck  her  palate  exactly  right.  She  liked  the  kiss  and 
caress,  cared,  in  fact,  for  all  that  he  did  for  her,  and  with 
the  appreciation  of  his  tenderness  came  repentance  for 
the  dreadful  chase  she  had  led  him  in  her  foolish  fright, 
and  an  impulse  to  repay.  She  took  a  dainty  hop  toward 
the  dogwood,  and  the  invitation  she  sent  him  was  ex 
quisite.  With  a  shrill  whistle  of  exultant  triumph  the 
Cardinal  answered  at  a  headlong  rush. 

The  farmer's  grip  tightened  on  his  wife's  shoulder,  but 
Maria  turned  toward  him  with  blazing,  tear-filled  eyes. 
"An'  you  call  yourself  a  decent  man,  Abram  Johnson  ?" 

89 


§on0    of    tfce    Cardinal 


^'Decent?"  quavered  the  astonished  Abram.  "De- 
'rent  ?  I  believe  I  am." 

"I  believe  you  ain't,"  hotly  retorted  his  wife.  "You 
don't  know  what  decency  is,  if  you  go  peekin'  at  them. 
They  ain't  birds!  They're  more'n  birds!  They're  folks! 
Jest  common  human  folks!" 

"Maria,"  plead  Abram,  "Maria,  honey." 

"I  am  plumb  ashamed  of  you,"  broke  in  Maria.  "How 
d'you  s'pose  she'd  feel  if  she  knew  there  was  a  man  here 
peekin'  at  her?  Ain't  she  got  a  right  to  be  lovin'  and 
tender?  Ain't  she  got  a  right  to  pay  him  best  she  knows? 
They're  jest  common  human  bein's,  an'  I  don't  know 
where  you  got  privilege  to  spy  on  a  female  when  she's 
doin'  the  best  she  knows." 

Maria  broke  from  his  grasp  and  started  down  the  line 
fence. 

In  a  few  strides  Abram  had  her  in  his  arms,  his  withered 
cheek  with  its  springtime  bloom  pressed  against  her 
equally  withered,  tear-stained  one. 

"Maria,"  he  whispered,  waveringly,  "Maria,  honey, 
I  wasn't  meanin'  any  disrespect  to  the  sex." 

Maria  wiped  her  eyes  on  the  corner  of  her  shawl.  "  I 
'don't  s'pose  you  was,  Abram,"  she  admitted;  "  but  you're 
jest  like  all  the  rest  o'  the  men.  You  never  think! 

CO 


Cte   §ong   of   t&e   Carafnal 

Now  you  go  on  with  your  plowin'  an'  let  that  little 
female  alone." 

She  unclasped  his  arms  and  turned  homeward. 

"Honey,"  called  Abram  softly,  "since  you  brought  'em 
that  pocketful  o'  wheat,  you  might  as  well  let  me  have  it." 

"Landy!"  exclaimed  Maria,  blushing;  "I  plumb  forgot 
my  wheat!  I  thought  maybe,  bein'  so  early,  pickin'  was 
scarce,  an'  if  you'd  put  out  a  little  wheat  an'  a  few  crumbs, 
they'd  stay  an'  nest  in  the  sumac,  as  you're  so  fond  o' 
them." 

"Jest  what  I'm  fairly  prayin'  they'll  do,  an'  I  been 
carry  in'  stuff  an'  pettin'  him  up  best  I  knowed  for  a  week," 
said  Abram,  as  he  knelt,  and  cupped  his  shrunken  hands, 
while  Maria  guided  the  wheat  from  her  apron  into  them. 
"I'll  scatter  it  along  the  top  rail,  an'  they'll  be  after  it  in 
fifteen  minutes.  Thank  you,  Maria.  'Twas  good  o' 
you  to  think  of  it." 

Maria  watched  him  steadily.  How  dear  he  was!  How 
dear  he  always  had  been!  How  happy  they  were  to 
gether!  "Abram,"  she  questioned,  hesitatingly,  "is 
there  anything  else  I  could  do  for — for  your  birds  ?  " 

They  were  creatures  of  habitual  repression,  and  the 
inner  glimpses  they  had  taken  of  each  other  that  day  were 
surprises  they  scarcely  knew  how  to  meet.  Abram  said 

QI 


^ong   of   t&e   Car&fnal 


nothing,  because  he  could  not.  He  slowly  shook  his  head, 
and  turned  to  the  plow,  his  eyes  misty.  Maria  started 
toward  the  line  fence,  but  she  paused  repeatedly  to  listen; 
and  it  was  no  wonder,  for  all  the  redbirds  from  miles  down 
the  river  had  gathered  around  the  sumac  to  see  if  there 
were  a  battle  in  birdland;  but  it  was  only  the  Cardinal, 
turning  somersaults  in  the  air,  and  screaming  with  burst 
ing  exuberance:  "Come  here!  Come  here!" 


"So  dear  I  So  dear!"  crooned  the  Cardinal 


She  had  taken  possession  of 
the  sumac.  The  location  was 
her  selection  and  he  loudly 
applauded  her  choice.  She 
placed  the  first  twig,  and 
after  exairiining  it  carefully, 
he  spent  the  day  carrying  her 
others  just  as  much  like  it  as 
possible.  If  she  used  a  dried 
grass  blade,  he  carried  grass 
blades  until  she  began  drop 
ping  them  on  the  ground. 
If  she  worked  in  a  bit  of  wild  grape- vine  bark,  he  peeled 
grape-vines  until  she  would  have  no  more.  It  never  oc 
curred  to  him  that  he  was  the  largest  cardinal  in  the  woods, 
in  those  days,  and  he  had  forgotten  that  he  wore  a  red 
coat.  She  was  not  a  skilled  architect.  Her  nest  certainly 
was  a  loose  ramshackle  affair;  but  she  had  built  it,  and 
had  allowed  him  to  help  her.  It  was  hers;  and  he  im- 

95 


of   t6e   Catuinal 


provised  a  paean  in  its  praise.  Every  morning  he  perched 
on  the  edge  of  the  nest  and  gazed  hi  songless  wonder  at 
each  beautiful  new  egg;  and  whenever  she  came  to  brood 
she  sat  as  if  entranced,  eyeing  her  treasures  in  an  ecstasy 
of  proud  possession. 

Then  she  nestled  them  against  her  warm  breast,  and 
turned  adoring  eyes  toward  the  Cardinal.  If  he  sang 
from  the  dogwood,  she  faced  that  way.  If  he  rocked  on 
the  wild  grape-vine,  she  turned  in  her  nest.  If  he  went 
to  the  corn  field  for  grubs,  she  stood  astride  her  eggs  and 
peered  down,  watching  his  every  movement  with  uncon 
cealed  anxiety.  The  Cardinal  forgot  to  be  vain  of  his 
beauty;  she  delighted  in  it  every  hour  of  the  day.  Shy 
and  timid  beyond  belief  she  had  been  during  her  courtship; 
but  she  made  reparation  by  being  an  incomparably  gener 
ous  and  devoted  mate. 

And  the  Cardinal!  He  was  astonished  to  find  himself 
capable  of  so  much  and  such  varied  feeling.  It  was  not 
enough  that  he  brooded  while  she  went  to  bathe  and  ex 
ercise.  The  daintiest  of  every  morsel  he  found  was  carried 
to  her.  When  she  reaised  to  swallow  another  particle,  he 
perched  on  a  twig  close  by  the  nest  many  times  in  a  day; 
and  with  sleek  feathers  and  lowered  crest,  gazed  at  her  in 
silent  worshipful  adoration. 

96 


e   %on0   of   tjje   CatDfnal 


Up  and  down  the  river  bank  he  flamed  and  rioted.  In 
the  sumac  he  uttered  not  the  faintest  " Chip!"  that  might 
attract  attention.  He  was  so  anxious  to  be  inconspicuous 
that  he  appeared  only  half  his  real  size.  Always  on  leav 
ing  he  gave  her  a  tender  little  peck  and  ran  his  beak  the 
length  of  her  wing — a  characteristic  caress  that  he  de 
lighted  to  bestow  on  her. 

If  he  felt  that  he  was  disturbing  her  too  often,  he  perched 
on  the  dogwood  and  sang  for  life,  and  love,  and  happiness. 
His  music  was  in  a  minor  key  now.  The  high,  exultant, 
ringing  notes  of  passion  were  mellowed  and  subdued.  He 
was  improvising  cradle  songs  and  lullabies.  He  was  telling 
her  how  he  loved  her,  how  he  would  fight  for  her,  how  he 
was  watching  over  her,  how  he  would  signal  if  any  danger 
were  approaching,  how  proud  he  was  of  her,  what  a  per 
fect  nest  she  had  built,  how  beautiful  he  thought  her 
eggs,  what  magnificent  babies  they  would  produce.  Full 
of  tenderness,  melting  with  love,  liquid  with  sweetness, 
the  Cardinal  sang  to  his  patient  little  brooding  mate: 
"So  dear!  So  dear!" 

The  farmer  leaned  on  his  corn-planter  and  listened  to 
him  intently.  "I  swanny!  If  he  hasn't  changed  his 
song  again,  an'  this  time  I'm  blest  if  I  can  tell  what  he's 
saying!"  Every  time  the  Cardinal  lifted  his  voice,  the 

97 


CJje   ^ong   of   t&e   CatDinal 

clip  of  the  corn-planter  ceased,  and  Abram  hung  on  the 
notes  and  studied  them  over. 

One  night  he  said  to  his  wife:  "Maria,  have  you  been 
noticin'  the  redbird  of  late?  He's  charged  to  a  new  tune, 
an'  this  time  I'm  completely  stalled.  I  can't  for  the  life 
of  me  make  out  what  he's  saying.  S'pose  you  step  down, 
to-morrow  an'  see  if  you  can  catch  it  for  me.  I'd  give  a 
pretty  to  know!" 

Maria  felt  flattered.  She  always  had  believed  that 
she  had  a  musical  ear.  Here  was  an  opportunity  to 
test  it  and  please  Abram  at  the  same  time.  She 
hastened  her  work  the  following  morning,  and  very 
early  slipped  along  the  line  fence.  Hiding  behind  the 
oak,  with  straining  ear  and  throbbing  heart,  she  eagerly 
listened.  "Clip,  clip,"  came  the  sound  of  the  planter, 
as  Abram's  dear  old  figure  trudged  up  the  hill.  "Chip! 
Chip!"  came  the  warning  of  the  Cardinal,  as>  he  flew  to 
his  mate. 

He  gave  her  some  food,  stroked  her  wing,  and  flying 
to  the  dogwood,  sang  of  the  love  that  encompassed  him. 
As  he  trilled  forth  his  tender  caressing  strain,  the  heart 
of  the  listening  woman  translated  as  did  that  of  the  brood 
ing  bird. 

With  shining  eyes  and  flushed  cheeks,  she  sped 

98 


e   %ons   of   t&e    Caroutal 


the  fence.  Panting  and  palpitating  with  excitement, 
she  met  Abram  half-way  on  his  return  trip.  Forget 
ful  of  her  habitual  reserve,  she  threw  her  arms  around 
his  neck,  and  Drawing  his  face  to  hers,  she  cried:  "Oh, 
Abram!  I  got  it!  I  got  it!  I  know  what  he's  saying! 
Oh,  Abram,  my  love!  My  own!  To  me  so  dear!  So 
dear!" 

"So  dear!    So  dear!"  echoed  the  Cardinal. 

The  bewilderment  in  Abram's  face  melted  into  com 
prehension.  He  swept  Maria  from  her  feet  as  he  lifted 
his  head. 

"On  my  soul!  You  have  got  it,  honey!  That's  what 
he's  saying,  plain  as  gospel!  I  can  tell  it  plainer'n  any 
thing  he's  sung  yet,  now  I  sense  it." 

He  gathered  Maria  in  his  arms,  pressed  her  head  against 
his  breast  with  a  trembling  old  hand,  while  the  face  he 
turned  to  the  morning  was  beautiful. 

"I  wish  to  God,"  he  said  quaveringly,  "  'at  every  crea 
ture  on  earth  was  as  well  fixed  as  me  an'  the  redbird!" 
Clasping  each  other,  they  listened  with  rapt  faces,  as, 
mellowing  across  the  corn  field,  came  the  notes  of  the 
Cardinal:  "So  dear!  So  dear!" 

After  that  Abram's  devotion  to  his  bird  family  became 
a  mild  mania.  He  carried  food  to  the  top  rail  of  the  line 

101 


C6e   %ong   of   tfce   Cardinal 

fence  every  day,  rain  or  shine,  with  the  same  regularity 
that  he  curried  and  fed  Nancy  in  the  barn.  From  caring 
for  and  so  loving  the  Cardinal,  there  grew  in  his  tender  old 
heart  a  welling  flood  of  sympathy  for  every  bird  that 
homed  on  his  farm. 

He  drove  a  stake  to  mark  the  spot  where  the  killdeer 
hen  brooded  in  the  corn  field,  so  that  he  would  not  drive 
Nancy  over  the  nest.  When  he  closed  the  bars  at  the 
end  of  the  lane,  he  always  was  careful  to  leave  the  third 
one  down,  for  there  was  a  chippy  brooding  in  the  opening 
where  it  fitted  when  closed.  Alders  and  sweetbriers 
grew  in  his  fence  corners  undisturbed  that  spring  if  he 
discovered  that  they  sheltered  an  anxious-eyed  little 
mother.  He  left  a  square  yard  of  clover  unmowed, 
because  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  lark,  singing  nearer 
the  Throne  than  any  other  bird,  was  picking  up  stray 
notes  dropped  by  the  Invisible  Choir,  and  with  un 
equalled  purity  and  tenderness,  sending  them  ringing 
down  to  his  brooding  mate,  whose  home  and  happi 
ness  would  be  despoiled  by  the  reaping  of  that  spot 
of  green.  He  delayed  burning  the  brush-heap  from 
the  spring  pruning,  back  of  the  orchard,  until  fall, 
when  he  found  it  housed  a  pair  of  fine  thrushes;  for 
the  song  o£  the  thrush  delighted  him  almost  as  much 

102 


€!)e   §ong    of   tfce    Cardinal 


as  that  of  the  lark.  He  left  a  hollow  limb  on  the  old 
red  pearmain  apple-tree,  because  when  he  came  to  cut 
it  there  was  a  pair  of  bluebirds  twittering  around,  frantic 
with  anxiety. 

His  pockets  were  bulgy  with  wheat  and  crumbs,  and 
his  heart  was  big  with  happiness.  It  was  the  golden 
springtime  of  his  later  life.  The  sky  never  had  seemed 
so  blue,  or  the  earth  so  beautiful.  The  Cardinal  had 
opened  the  fountains  of  his  soul;  life  took  on  a  new 
colour  and  joy;  while  every  work  of  God  manifested 
a  fresh  and  heretofore  unappreciated  loveliness.  His 
very  muscles  seemed  to  relax,  and  new  strength  arose 
to  meet  the  demands  of  his  uplifted  spirit.  He  had 
not  finished  his  day's  work  with  such  ease  and  plea 
sure  in  years;  and  he  could  see  the  influence  of  his 
rejuvenation  in  Maria.  She  was  flitting  around  her 
house  with  broken  snatches  of  song,  even  sweeter  to 
Abram's  ears  than  the  notes  of  the  birds;  and  in  recent 
days  he  had  noticed  that  she  dressed  particularly  for  her 
afternoon's  sewing,  putting  on  her  Sunday  lace  collar 
and  a  white  apron.  He  immediately  went  to  town  and 
bought  her  a  finer  collar  than  she  ever  had  owned  in  her 
life. 

Then  he  hunted  a  sign  painter,  and  came  home  bearing 

103 


Cfce   §>ong   of   tbt   Cardinal 

a  number  of  pine  boards  on  which  gleamed  in  big,  shiny 
black  letters: 


NO   HUNTING  ALLOWED  ON 
THIS  FARM 


He  seemed  slightly  embarrassed  when  he  showed  them 
to  Maria.  "I  feel  a  little  mite  onfriendly,  putting  up 
signs  like  that  'fore  my  neighbours,"  he  admitted,  "but 
the  fact  is,  it  ain't  the  neighbours  so  much  as  it's  boys 
that  need  raising,  an'  them  town  creatures  who  call  them 
selves  sportsmen,  an'  kill  a  hummin'-bird  to  see  if  they 
can  hit  it.  Time  was  when  trees  an'  underbrush  were  full 
o'  birds  an'  squirrels,  any  amount  o'  rabbits,  an'  the  fish 
fairly  crowdin'  in  the  river.  I  used  to  kill  all  the  quail 
an'  wild  turkeys  about  here  a  body  needed  to  make  an' 
appetizing  change.  It  was  always  my  plan  to  take  a 
little  an'  leave  a  little.  But  jest  look  at  it  now.  Surprise 
o'  my  life  if  I  get  a  two-pound  bass.  Wild  turkey  gobblin' 
would  scare  me  most  out  of  my  senses,  an',  as  for  the  birds, 
there  are  jest  about  a  fourth  what  there  used  to  be,  an* 
the  crops  eaten  to  pay  for  it.  I'd  do  all  I'm  tryin'  to 
for  any  bird,  because  of  its  song  an'  colour,  an'  pretty 
teeterin'  ways,  but  I  ain't  so  slow  but  I  see  I'm  paid  in 

104 


0* 


e   %on$   of   tbc   Cardinal 


what  they  do  for  me.  Up  go  these  signs,  an'  it  won't  be 
a  happy  day  for  anybody  I  catch  trespassin'  on  my 
birds." 

Maria  studied  the  signs  meditatively.  "You  shouldn't 
be  forced  to  put  'em  up,"  she  said  conclusively.  "If  it's 
been  decided  'at  it's  good  for  'em  to  be  here,  an'  laws 
made  to  protect  'em,  people  ought  to  act  with  some  sense, 
an'  leave  them  alone.  I  never  was  so  int'rested  in  the 
birds  in  all  my  life;  an'  I'll  jest  do  a  little  lookin'  out  my 
self.  If  you  hear  a  spang  o'  the  dinner  bell  when  you're 
out  in  the  field,  you'll  know  it  means  there's  some  one 
sneakin'  'round  with  a  gun." 

Abram  caught  Maria,  and  planted  a  resounding  smack 
on  her  cheek,  where  the  roses  of  girlhood  yet  bloomed  for 
him.  Then  he  filled  his  pockets  with  crumbs  and  grain, 
and  strolled  to  the  river  to  set  the  Cardinal's  table.  He 
could  hear  the  sharp  incisive  "Chip!"  and  the  tender 
mellow  love-notes  as  he  left  the  barn;  and  all  the  way 
to  the  sumac  they  rang  in  his  ears. 

The  Cardinal  met  him  at  the  corner  of  the  field,  and 
hopped  over  bushes  and  the  fence  only  a  few  yards  from 
him.  When  Abram  had  scattered  his  store  on  the  rail, 
the  bird  came  tipping  and  tilting,  daintily  caught  up  a 
crumb,  and  carried  it  to  the  sumac.  His  mate  was 

107 


C&e   &ong   of   tfce   Carcina 

pleased  to  take  it;  and  he  carried  her  one  morsel  after  an 
other  until  she  refused  to  open  her  beak  for  more.  He 
made  a  light  supper  himself;  and  then  swinging  on  the 
grape-vine,  he  closed  the  day  with  an  hour  of  music.  He 
repeatedly  turned  a  bright  questioning  eye  toward  Abram, 
but  he  never  for  a  moment  lost  sight  of  the  nest  and  the 
plump  gray  figure  of  his  little  mate.  As  she  brooded  over 
her  eggs,  he  brooded  over  her;  and  that  she  might  realize 
the  depth  and  constancy  of  his  devotion,  he  told  her  re 
peatedly,  with  every  tender  inflection  he  could  throw  into 
his  tones,  that  she  was  "  So  dear !  So  dear ! " 

The  Cardinal  had  not  known  that  the  coming  of  the 
mate  he  so  coveted  would  fill  his  life  with  such  unceasing 
gladness,  and  yet,  on  the  very  day  that  happiness  seemed 
at  fullest  measure,  there  was  trouble  in  the  sumac.  He 
had  overstayed  his  time,  chasing  a  fat  moth  he  particu 
larly  wanted  for  his  mate,  and  she,  growing  thirsty  past 
endurance,  left  the  nest  and  went  to  the  river.  Seeing 
her  there,  he  made  all  possible  haste  to  take  his  turn  at 
brooding,  so  he  arrived  just  in  time  to  see  a  pilfering  red 
squirrel  starting  away  with  an  egg. 

With  a  vicious  scream  the  Cardinal  struck  him  full 
force.  His  rush  of  rage  cost  the  squirrel  an  eye;  but  it 
lost  the  father  a  birdiing,  for  the  squirrel  dropped  the 

108 


€&e   §ong   of   ttje   CatDinaf 


egg  outside  the  nest.  The  Cardinal  mournfully  carried 
away  the  tell-tale  bits  of  shell,  so  that  any  one  seeing 
them  would  not  look  up  and  discover  his  treasures.  That 
left  three  eggs;  and  the  brooding  bird  mourned  over  the 
lost  one  so  pitifully  that  the  Cardinal  perched  close  to  the 
nest  the  remainder  of  the  day,  and  whispered  over  and 
over  for  her  comfort  that  she  was  "  So  dear!  So  dear!" 


109 


"See  here!    See  here!"  demanded  the  Cardinal 


The  mandate  repeatedly  rang 
from  the  topmost  twig  of  the 
thorn  tree,  and  yet  the  Cardi 
nal  was  not  in  earnest.  He 
was  beside  himself  with  a  new 
and  delightful  excitement, 
and  he  found  it  impossible  to 
refrain  from  giving  vent  to 
his  feelings.  He  was  com 
manding  the  farmer  and 
every  furred  and  feathered 
denizen  of  the  river  bottom 
to  see;  then  he  fought  like  a  wild  thing  if  any  of  them  ven 
tured  close,  for  great  things  were  happening  in  the  sumac. 
In  past  days  the  Cardinal  had  brooded  an  hour  every 
morning  while  his  mate  went  to  take  her  exercise,  bathe, 
and  fluff  in  the  sun  parlour.  He  had  gone  to  her  that 
morning  as  usual,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  anxious 
eyes  and  refused  to  move.  He  had  hopped  to  the  very 

no 


C&e   §ong    of    t&e    CatDfnal1 

edge  of  the  nest  and  repeatedly  urged  her  to  go.  SHe 
only  ruffled  her  feathers,  and  nestled  the  eggs  she  was 
brooding  to  turn  them,  but  did  not  offer  to  leave.  The 
Cardinal  reached  over  and  gently  nudged  her  with  his 
beak,  to  remind  her  that  it  was  his  time  to  brood;  but 
she  looked  at  him  almost  savagely,  and  gave  him  a  sharp 
peck;  so  he  knew  she  was  not  to  be  bothered.  He  carried 
her  every  dainty  he  could  find  and  hovered  near  her,  tense 
with  anxiety,  almost  all  the  day. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  she  went  after  the 
drink  for  which  she  was  half  famished.  She  scarcely  had 
reached  a  willow  and  bent  over  the  water  before  the  Car 
dinal  was  on  the  edge  of  the  nest.  He  examined  it  closely, 
but  he  could  see  no  change.  He  leaned  to  give  the  eggs 
careful  scrutiny,  and  from  somewhere  there  came  to  him 
the  faintest  little  "Chip!"  he  ever  had  heard.  Up  went 
1  the  Cardinal's  crest,  and  he  dashed  to  the  willow.  There 
was  no  danger  in  sight;  and  his  mate  was  greedily  dipping 
her  rosy  beak  in  the  water.  He  went  back  to  the  cradle 
and  listened  intently,  and  again  that  feeble  cry  came  to 
him.  Under  the  nest,  around  it,  and  all  through  the 
sumac  he  searched,  until  at  last,  completely  baffled, 
he  came  back  to  the  edge.  The  sound  was  so  much 
plainer  there,  that  he  suddenly  leaned,  caressing  the 

"3 


Cf)e    %ong    of    tte    CatDinal 

eggs  with  his  beak;  then  the  Cardinal  knew!  He  had 
been  hearing  the  first  faint  cries  of  his  shell-incased 
babies! 

With  a  wild  scream  he  made  a  flying  leap  through  the 
air.  His  heart  was  beating  to  suffocation.  He  started 
in  a  race  down  the  river.  If  he  alighted  on  a  bush  he  took 
only  one  swing,  and  springing  from  it  flamed  on  in  head 
long  flight.  He  flashed  to  the  top  of  the  tallest  tulip 
tree,  and  cried  cloud  ward  to  the  lark:  "See  here!  See 
here!"  He  dashed  to  the  river  bank  and  told  the 
killdeers,  and  then  visited  the  underbrush  and  informed 
the  thrushes  and  wood  robins.  Father-tender,  he  grew 
so  delirious  with  joy  that  he  forgot  his  habitual  aloof 
ness,  and  fraternized  with  every  bird  beside  the  shin 
ing  river.  He  even  laid  aside  his  customary  caution, 
went  chipping  into  the  sumac,  and  caressed  his  mate 
so  boisterously  she  gazed  at  him  severely  and  gave 
his  wing  a  savage  pull  to  recall  him  to  his  sober 
senses. 

That  night  the  Cardinal  slept  in  the  sumac,  very  close 
to  his  mate,  and  he  shut  only  one  eye  at  a  time.  Early 
in  the  morning,  when  he  carried  her  the  first  food,  he 
found  that  she  was  on  the  edge  of  the  nest,  dropping  bits 
of  shell  outside;  and  creeping  to  peep,  he  saw  the  tiniest 

114 


e    ^ong    of   t&e    CarDtnal 


coral  baby,  with  closed  eyes,  and  little  patches  of  soft 
silky  down.  Its  beak  was  wide  open,  and  though  his 
heart  was  even  fuller  than  on  the  previous  day,  the  Car 
dinal  knew  what  that  meant;  and  instead  of  indulging  in 
another  celebration,  he  assumed  the  duties  of  paternity, 
and  began  sear  ching  for  food,  for  now  there  were  two  empty 
crops  in  his  family.  On  the  f ollowring  day  there  were  four. 
Then  he  really  worked.  How  eagerly  he  searched,  and 
how  gladly  he  flew  to  the  sumac  with  every  rare  morsel! 
The  babies  were  too  small  for  the  mother  to  leave;  and 
for  the  first  few  days  the  Cardinal  was  constantly  on 
wing. 

If  he  could  not  find  sufficiently  dainty  food  for  them  in 
the  trees  and  bushes,  or  among  the  offerings  of  the  farmer, 
he  descended  to  earth  and  searched  like  a  wood  robin.  He 
forgot  he  needed  a  bath  or  owned  a  sun  parlour;  but  every 
where  he  went,  from  his  full  heart  there  constantly  burst 
the  cry :  "  See  here !  See  here ! " 

His  mate  made  never  a  sound.  Her  eyes  were  bigger 
and  softer  than  ever,  and  in  them  glowed  a  steady  love- 
light.  She  hovered  over  those  three  red  mites  of  nestlings 
so  tenderly!  She  was  so  absorbed  in  feeding,  stroking, 
and  coddling  them  she  neglected  herself  until  she  became 
quite  lean.  When  the  Cardinal  came  every  few  minutes 


Cbe   ^ong   of   tfje    CarDfnal 

with  food,  she  was  a  picture  of  love  and  gratitude  for  his 
devoted  attention,  and  once  she  reached  over  and  softly 
kissed  his  wing.  "  See  here !  See  here ! "  shrilled  the  Car 
dinal;  and  in  his  ecstasy  he  again  forgot  himself  and  sang 
in  the  sumac.  Then  he  carried  food  with  greater  activity 
than  ever  to  cover  his  lapse. 

The  farmer  knew  that  it  lacked  an  hour  of  noon,  but  he 
was  so  anxious  to  tell  Maria  the  news  that  he  could  not 
endure  the  suspense  another  minute.  There  was  a  new 
song  from  the  sumac.  He  had  heard  it  as  he  turned 
the  first  corner  with  the  shovel  plow.  He  had  listened 
eagerly,  and  had  caught  the  meaning  almost  at  once — 
"See  here!  See  here!"  He  tied  the  old  gray  mare  to 
the  fence  to  prevent  her  eating  the  young  corn,  and  went 
immediately.  By  leaning  a  rail  against  the  thorn  tree 
he  was  able  to  peer  into  the  sumac,  and  take  a  good  look 
at  the  nest  of  handsome  birdlings,  now  well  screened  with 
the  umbrella-like  foliage.  It  seemed  to  Abram  that  he 
never  could  wait  until  noon.  He  critically  examined  the 
harness,  in  the  hope  that  he  would  find  a  buckle  missing, 
and  tried  to  discover  a  flaw  in  the  plow  that  would  send 
him  to  the  barn  for  a  file;  but  he  could  not  invent  the 
ghost  of  an  excuse  for  going.  So,  when  he  had  waited 
until  an  hour  of  noon,  he  could  endure  it  no  longer. 

116 


Cte   §ong   of  t&e   Catnfnal 


"Got  news  for  you,  Maria,"  he  called  from  the  well,' 
where  he  was  making  a  great  pretense  of  thirst. 

"Oh  I  don't  know,"  answered  Maria,  with  a  superior 
smile.  "If  it's  about  the  redbirds,  he's  been  up  to  the 
garden  three  tunes  this  morning  yellin',  'See  here!'  fit 
to  sph't;  an'  I  jest  figured  that  their  little  ones  had  hatched. 
Is  that  your  news?  " 

"Well  I  be  durned!"  gasped  the  astonished  Abram. 

Mid-afternoon  Abram  turned  Nancy  and  started  the 
plow  down  a  row  that  led  straight  to  the  sumac.  He 
intended  to  stop  there,  tie  to  the  fence,  and  go  to  the 
river  bank,  in  the  shade,  for  a  visit  with  the  Cardi 
nal.  It  was  very  warm,  and  he  was  feeling  the  heat 
so  much,  that  in  his  heart  he  knew  he  would  be  glad 
to  reach  the  end  of  the  row  and  the  rest  he  had  promised 
himself. 

The  quick  nervous  strokes  of  tjhe  dinner  bell,  "Clang! 
Clang!  "  came  cutting  the  air  clearly  and  sharply.  Abram 
stopped  Nancy  with  a  jerk.  It  was  the  warning  Maria  had 
promised  to  send  him  if  she  saw  prowlers  with  guns.  He 
shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  scanned  the  points  of 
the  compass  through  narrowed  lids  with  concentrated 
vision.  He  first  caught  a  gleam  of  light  playing  on  a 
gun-barrel,  and  then  he  could  discern  the  £  gure  of  a  man 

117 


e    ^ong    of   t&e    Cardinal 


clad  in  hunter'  soutfit  leisurely  walking  down  the  lane, 
toward  the  river. 

Abram  hastily  hitched  Nancy  to  the  fence.  By  making 
the  best  time  he  could,  he  reached  the  opposite  corner, 
and  was  nibbling  the  midrib  of  a  young  corn  blade 
and  placidly  viewing  the  landscape  when  the  hunter 
passed. 

"  Howdy ! "  he  said  in  an  even  cordial  voice. 

The  hunter  walked  on  without  lifting  his  eyes  or  mak 
ing  audible  reply.  To  Abram's  friendly  old-fashioned 
heart  this  seemed  the  rankest  discourtesy;  and  there  was 
a  flash  in  his  eye  and  a  certain  unnatural  quality  in  his 
voice  as  he  lifted  a  hand  for  parley. 

"Hold  a  minute,  my  friend,"  he  said.  "Since  you  art 
on  my  premises,  might  I  be  privileged  to  ask  if  you  have 
seen  a  few  signs  'at  I  have  posted  pertainin'  to  the  use  of  a 
gun?" 

"I  am  not  blind,"  replied  the  hunter;  "and  my  educa 
tion  has  been  looked  after  to  the  extent  that  I  can  make 
out  your  notices.  From  the  number  and  size  of  them,  I 
think  I  could  do  it,  old  man,  if  I  had  no  eyes." 

The  scarcely  suppressed  sneer,  and  the  "old  man" 
grated  on  Abram's  nerves  amazingly,  for  a  man  of  sixty 
years  of  peace.  The  gleam  in  his  eyes  grew  stronger, 

'118 


C6e    §>ong    of   t&e   CatDtnal 

and  there  was  a  perceptible  lift  of  his  shoulders  as  he 
answered: 

"I  meant  'em  to  be  read  an'  understood!  From  the 
main  road  passin'  that  cabin  up  there  on  the  bank,  straight 
to  the  river,  an'  from  the  furthermost  line  o'  this  field 
to  the  same,  is  my  premises,  an'  on  every  foot  of  'em 
the  signs  are  in  full  force.  They're  in  a  little  fuller 
force  in  June,  when  half  the  bushes  an'  tufts  o'  grass 
are  housin'  a  young  bird  family,  'an  at  any  other 
time.  They're  sort  o'  upholdin'  the  legislature's  act, 
providing  for  the  protection  o'  game  an'  singin'  birds) 
an'  maybe  it  'ud  be  well  for  you  to  notice  'at  I'm  not 
so  old  but  I'm  able  to  stand  up  for  my  rights  before  any 
livin'  man." 

There  certainly  was  an  added  tinge  of  respect  in  the 
'hunter's  tones  as  he  asked:  "Would  you  consider  it  tres 
pass  if  a  man  simply  crossed  your  land,  following  the 
line  of  the  fences  to  reach  the  farm  of  a  friend?" 

"Certainly  not!"  cried  Abram,  cordial  in  his  relief. 
"  To  be  sure  not !  Glad  to  have  you  convenience  yourself. 
I  only  wanted  to  jest  call  to  your  notice  'at  the  birds  are 
protected  on  this  farm." 

"I  have  no  intention  of  interfering  with  your  precious 
birds,  I  assure  you,"  replied  the  hunter.  "And  if  you 

vl 

119 


e    §ong   of   tfce    Car&fnal 


require  an  explanation  of  the  gun  in  June,  I  confess  I 
d'd  hope  to  be  able  to  pick  off  a  squirrel  for  a  very  sick 
friend.  But  I  suppose  for  even  such  cause  it  would  not 
be  allowed  on  your  premises." 

"  Oh  pshaw  now ! "  said  Abram.  "  Man  alive !  I'm  not 
onreasonable.  O'  course  in  case  o'  sickness  I'd  be  glad  if 
you  could  run  across  a  squirrel.  All  I  wanted  was  to  have 
a  clear  understandin'  about  the  birds.  Good  luck,  an' 
good  day  to  you!" 

Abram  started  across  the  field  to  Nancy,  but  he  re 
peatedly  turned  to  watch  the  gleam  of  the  gun-barrel,  as 
the  hunter  rounded  the  corner  and  started  down  the  river 
bank.  He  saw  him  leave  the  line  of  the  fence  and  dis 
appear  in  the  thicket. 

"Coin'  straight  for  the  sumac,"  muttered  Abram. 
"It's  likely  I'm  a  fool  for  not  stayin'  right  beside  him  past 
that  point.  An'  yet — I  made  it  fair  an'  plain,  an'  he 
passed  his  word  'at  he  wouldn't  touch  the  birds." 

He  untied  Nancy,  and  for  the  second  time  started 
toward  the  sumac.  He  had  been  plowing  carefully,  his 
attention  divided  between  the  mare  and  the  corn;  but  he 
uprooted  half  that  row,  for  his  eyes  wandered  to  the  Car 
dinal's  home  as  if  he  were  fascinated,  and  his  hands  were 
shaking  with  undue  excitement  as  he  gripped  the  plow 

1 20 


C6e   %ong   of  t&e   Cardinal 


handles.  At  last  he  stopped  Nancy,  and  stood  gazing 
eagerly  toward  the  river. 

"Must  be  jest  about  the  sumac,"  he  whispered.  "Lord! 
but  I'll  be  glad  to  see  the  old  gun-barrel  gleamin'  safe 
t'other  side  o'  it." 

There  was  a  thin  puff  of  smoke,  and  a  screaming 
echo  went  rolling  and  reverberating  down  the  Wabash. 
Abram  's  eyes  widened,  and  a  curious  whiteness  settled  on 
his  lips.  He  stood  as  if  incapable  of  moving.  "Clang! 
Clang!"  came  Maria's  second  warning. 

The  trembling  slid  from  him,  and  his  muscles  hard 
ened.  There  was  no  trace  of  rheumatic  stiffness  in  his 
movements.  With  a  bound  he  struck  the  chain-traces 
from  the  singletree  at  Nancy's  heels.  He  caught  the 
names,  leaped  on  her  back,  and  digging  his  heels  into  her 
sides,  he  stretched  along  her  neck  like  an  Indian  and  raced 
across  the  corn  field.  Nancy's  twenty  years  slipped  from 
her  as  her  master's  sixty  had  from  him.  Without  under 
standing  the  emergency,  she  knew  that  he  required  all  the 
speed  there  was  hi  her;  and  with  trace-chains  rattling  and 
beating  on  her  heels,  she  stretched  out  until  she  fairly 
swept  the  young  corn,  as  she  raced  for  the  sumac.  Once 
Abram  straightened,  and  slipping  a  hand  into  his  pocket, 
drew  out  a  formidable  jack-knife,  opening  it  as  he  rode. 

121 


Ci)e   §ong   of   t&e    Cardinal 


When  he  reached  the  fence,  he  almost  flew  over  Nancy's 
head.  He  went  into  a  fence  corner,  and  with  a  few  slashes 
severed  a  stout  hickory  withe,  stripping  the  leaves  and 
topping  it  as  he  leaped  the  fence. 

He  grasped  this  ugly  weapon,  his  eyes  dark  with  anger 
as  he  appeared  before  the  hunter,  who  supposed  him  at 
the  other  side  of  the  field. 

"Did  you  shoot  at  that  redbird?"  he  roared. 

As  his  gun  was  at  the  sportman's  shoulder,  and  he  was 
still  peering  among  the  bushes,  denial  seemed  useless. 
"Yes,  I  did,"  he  replied,  and  made  a  pretense  of  turning 
to  the  sumac  again. 

There  was  a  forward  impulse  of  Abram's  body.  "Hit 
'im?"  he  demanded  with  awful  calm. 

"Thought  I  had,  but  I  guess  I  only  winged  him." 

Abram's  fingers  closed  around  his  club.  At  the  sound 
of  his  friend's  voice,  the  Cardinal  came  darting  through 
the  bushes  a  wavering  flame,  and  swept  so  closely  to  him 
for  protection  that  a  whig  almost  brushed  his  cheek. 

"  See  here  !  See  here  !  "  shrilled  the  bird  in  deadly  panic. 
There  was  not  a  cut  feather  to  be  seen  on  him. 

Abram's  relief  was  so  great  he  seemed  to  shrink  an  inch 
in  height. 

"Young  man,  you  better  thank  your  God  you  missed 

122 


€&e   ^ong   of   tlje    CarDfna! 

that  bird,"  he  said  solemnly,  "for  if  you'd  killed  him,  I'd 
a-mauled  this  stick  to  ribbons  on  you,  an'  I'm  most  afraid 
I  wouldn't  a-knowed  when  to  quit." 

He  advanced  a  step  in  his  eagerness,  and  the  hunter, 
mistaking  his  motive,  levelled  his  gun. 

"Drop  that!"  shouted  Abram,  as  he  broke  through  the 
bushes  that  clung  to  him,  tore  the  clothing  from  his 
shoulders,  and  held  him  back.  "Drop  that!  Don't 
you  dare  point  a  weapon  at  me;  on  my  own  premises,  an* 
after  you  passed  your  word. 

"Your  word!"  repeated  Abram,  with  withering  scorn, 
his  white,  quivering  old  face  terrible  to  see.  "Young 
man,  I  got  a  couple  o'  things  to  say  to  you.  You'r* 
shaped  like  a  man,  an'  youY  dressed  like  a  man,  an'  yet 
the  smartest  person  livin'  would  never  take  you  for  any 
thing  but  an  egg-suckin'  dog,  this  minute.  All  the  time 
God  ever  spent  on  you  was  wasted,  an'  your  mother's  had 
the  same  luck.  I  s'pose  God's  used  to  having  creatures  'at 
He's  made  go  wrong,  but  I  pity  your  mother.  Goodness 
knows  a  woman  suffers  an'  works  enough  over  her  chil 
dren,  an'  then  to  fetch  a  boy  to  man 's  estate  an'  have  him, 
of  his  own  free  will  an'  accord,  be  a  liar!  Young  man, 
truth  is  the  corner-stone  o'  the  temple  o'  character.  No 
body  can  put  up  a  good  buildin'  without  a  solid  founda- 


^ong    of    t&e    CarDinal 


tion;  an'  you  can't  do  solid  character  buildin'  with  a  lie 
at  the  base.  Man  'at's  a  liar  ain't  fit  for  anything!  Can't 
trust  him  in  no  sphere  or  relation  o'  life;  or  in  any  way, 
shape,  or  manner.  You  passed  out  your  word  like  a 
man,  an'  like  a  man  I  took  it  an'  went  off  trustin'  you, 
an'  you  failed  me.  Like  as  not  that  squirrel  story  was 
a  lie,  too!  Have  you  got  a  sick  friend  who  is  needin' 
squirrel  broth?  " 

The  hunter  shook  his  head. 

"No?  That  wasn't  true  either?  I'll  own  you  make 
me  curious.  'Ud  you  mind  tellin'  me  what  was  your  idy 
in  cookin'  up  that  squirrel  story?  " 

The  hunter  spoke  with  an  effort.  "I  suppose  I  wanted 
to  do  some  tiling  to  make  you  feel  small,"  he  admitted,  in  a 
husky  voice. 

"You  wanted  to  make  me  feel  small,"  repeated  Abram, 
wonderingly.  "Lord!  Lord!  Young  man,  did  you  ever 
hear  o'  a  boomerang?  It's  a  kind  o'  weapon  used  in 
Borneo,  er  Australy,  er  some  o'  them  furrin  parts,  an 
it's  so  made  'at  the  heathens  can  pitch  it,  an'  it  cuts  a 
circle  an'  comes  back  to  the  fellow  'at  throwed.  I  can't 
see  myself,  an'  I  don't  know  how  small  I'm  lookin';  but 
I'd  rather  lose  ten  year  o'  my  life  'an  to  have  anybody 
catch  me  lookin'  as  little  as  you  do  right  now.  I  guess  we 

124 


C&e   &ong   of   tjje   Cardinal 

look  about  the  way  we  feel  in  this  world.  I'm  feelin* 
near  the  size  o'  Goliath  at  present;  but  your  size  is  such 
'at  it  hustles  me  to  see  any  man  in  you  at  all.  An'  you 
wanted  to  make  me  feel  small!  My,  oh,  my!  An'  you 
so  young  yet,  too! 

"An'  if  it  hadn't  a-compassed  a  matter  o'  breakin'  your 
word,  what  'ud  you  want  to  kill  the  redbird  for,  anyhow? 
Who  give  you  rights  to  go  'round  takin'  such  beauty  an* 
joy  out  of  the  world?  Who  do  you  think  made  this  world 
an'  the  things  'at's  in  it?  Maybe  it's  your  notion  'at 
somebody  about  your  size  whittled  it  from  a  block  o' 
wood,  scattered  a  little  sand  for  earth,  stuck  a  few  seeds 
for  trees,  an'  started  the  oceans  with  a  waterin'-pot! 
I  don't  know  what  paved  streets  an'  stall  feedin'  do  for 
a  man,  but  any  one  'at's  lived  sixty  year  on  the  ground 
knows  'at  this  whole  old  earth  is  jest  teemin'  with  work 
'at's  too  big  for  anything  but  a  God,  an'  a  mighty  big 
God  at  that! 

"You  don't  never  need  bother  none  'bout  the  diskivries 
o'  science,  for  if  science  could  prove  'at  the  earth  was  a 
red  hot  slag  broken  from  the  son,  'at  balled  an'  cooled 
flyin'  through  space  until  the  force  o'  gravity  caught  an* 
held  it,  it  doesn't  prove  what  the  sun  broke  from,  or  why  it 
balled  an'  didn't  cool.  Sky  over  your  head,  earth  under 

125 


C&e   §ong  of  t&e  Cardinal 

foot,  trees  around  you,  an*  river  there — all  full  o'  life 
'at  you  ain't  no  mortal  right  to  touch,  'cos  God  made  it, 
an'  it's  His!  Course,  I  know  'at  He  said  distinct  'at  man, 
was  to  have  'dominion  over  the  beasts  o'  the  field,  an* 
the  fowls  o'  the  air.'  An'  that  means  'at  you're  free  to 
smash  a  copper-head  instead  of  letting  it  sting  you.  Means 
'at  you  better  shoot  a  wolf  than  to  let  it  carry  off  your 
lambs.  Means  'at  it's  right  to  kill  a  hawk  an'  save  your 
chickens;  but  God  knows  'at  shootin'  a  redbird  just  to  see 
the  feathers  fly  isn't  having  dominion  over  anything; 
it's  jest  makin'  a  plumb  beast  o'  yerself.  Passes  me,  how 
you  can  face  up  to  the  Almighty,  an'  draw  a  bead  on  a 
thing  like  that !  Takes  more  gall'n  I  got ! 

"God  never  made  anything  prettier  'an  that  bird,  anr 
He  must  a-been  mighty  proud  o'  the  job.  Jest  cast  your 
eyes  on  it  there !  Ever  see  anything  so  runnin'  over  with 
dainty,  pretty,  coaxin'  ways?  Little  red  creatures,  full 
0*  hist'ry,  too!  Ever  think  o'  that?  Last  year's  bird, 
hatched  hereabout,  like  as  not.  Went  South  for  winter, 
an'  made  friends  'at's  been  feedin',  an'  teachin'  it  to  trust 
mankind.  Back  this  spring  in  a  night,  an'  struck  that 
sumac  over  a  month  ago.  Broke  me  all  up  first  time  I 
ever  set  eyes  on  it. 

"Biggest  reddest  redbird  I  ever  saw;  an'  jest  a  master 

126 


e    ^ong    of   t&e    CatDinal 


hand  at  king's  English!  Talk  plain  as  you  can!  Don't 
know  what  he  said  down  South,  but  you  can  bank  on  it, 
it  was  sumpin'  pretty  fine.  When  he  settled  here,  he  was 
discoursin'  on  the  weather,  an'  he  talked  it  out  about 
proper.  He'd  say,  'Wet  year!  Wet  year!'  jest  like 
that!  He  got  the  'wet'  jest  as  good  as  I  can,  an',  if  he 
drawed  the  'ye-ar'  out  a  little,  still  any  blockhead  could 
a- told  what  he  was  sayin',  an'  in  a  voice  pretty  an'  clear 
as  a  bell.  Then  he  got  love-sick,  an'  begged  for  comp'ny 
until  he  broke  me  all  up.  An'  if  I'd  a-been  a  hen  red- 
bird  I  wouldn't  a-been  so  long  comin'.  Had  me  pulverized 
in  less'n  no  time!  Then  a  little  hen  comes  'long,  an'  stops 
with  him;  an'  'twas  like  an  organ  playin'  prayers  to  hear 
him  tell  her  how  he  loved  her.  Now  they've  got  a  nest 
full  o'  the  cunningest  little  topknot  babies,  an'  he's  split- 
tin'  the  echoes,  calling  for  the  whole  neighbourhood  to 
come  see  'em,  he's  so  mortal  proud. 

"Stake  my  life  he's  never  been  fired  on  afore!  He's 
pretty  near  wild  with  narvousness,  but  he's  got  too  much 
spunk  to  leave  his  fam'ly,  an'  go  off  an'  hide  from  crea 
tures  like  you.  They's  no  caution  in  him.  Look  at  him 
tearin'  'round  to  give  you  another  chance ! 

"I  felt  most  too  rheumaticky  to  tackle  field  work  this 
spring  until  he  come  'long,  an'  the  fire  o'  his  coat  an'  song 

127 


€6e   %ong   of   ttjc   Cardinal 

got  me  warmed  up  as  I  ain't  been  in  years.  Work's  gone 
like  it  was  greased,  an'  my  soul's  been  singin'  for  joy  o'  life 
an'  happiness  ev'ry  minute  o'  the  time  since  he  come. 
Been  carry  in'  him  grub  to  that  top  rail  once  an'  twice  a 
day  for  the  last  month,  an'  I  can  go  in  three  feet  o'  him. 
My  wife  comes  to  see  him,  an'  brings  him  stuff;  an'  we 
about  worship  him.  Who  are  you,  to  come  long  an* 
wipe  out  his  joy  in  life,  an'  our  joy  in  him,  for  jest  nothin'? 
You'd  a  left  him  to  rot  on  the  ground,  if  you'd  a  hit  him; 
an'  me  an'  Maria's  loved  him  so! 

"  D'you  ever  stop  to  think  how  full  this  world  is  o'  things 
to  love,  if  your  heart's  jest  big  enough  to  let  'em  in?  We 
love  to  live  for  the  beauty  o'  the  things  surroundin'  us, 
an'  the  joy  we  take  in  bein'  among  'em.  An'  it's  my  belief 
'at  the  way  to  make  folks  love  us,  is  for  us  to  be  able  to 
'predate  what  they  can  do.  If  a  man's  puttin'  his  heart 
an'  soul,  an'  blood,  an'  beef-steak,  an'  bones  into  pain  tin* 
picters,  you  can  talk  farmin'  to  him  all  day,  an'  he's  dumb; 
but  jest  show  him  'at  you  see  what  he's  a-drivin'  at  in  his 
work,  an'  he'll  love  you  like  a  brother.  Whatever  any 
body  succeeds  in,  it's  success  'cos  they  so  love  it  'at  they 
put  the  best  o' then-selves  into  it;  an'  so,  lovin'  what  they 
do,  is  lovin'  them. 

41  It  'ud  'bout  kill  a  painter-man  to  put  the  best  o'  him- 

128 


C&e    ^ong    of   tlje    Cardinal 

self  into  his  picture,  an'  then  have  some  fellow  like  you 
come  'long  an'  pour  turpentine  on  it  jest  to  see  the  paint 
run;  an'  I  think  it  must  pretty  well  use  God  up,  to  figure 
out  how  to  make  an'  colour  a  thing  like  that  bird,  an'  then 
have  you  walk  up  an'  shoot  the  little  red  heart  out  of  it, 
jest  to  prove  'at  you  can!  He's  the  very  life  o'  this  river 
bank.  I'd  as  soon  see  you  dig  up  the  underbrush,  an' 
dry  up  the  river,  an'  spoil  the  picture  they  make  against 
the  sky,  as  to  hev'  you  drop  the  redbird.  He's  the  red 
life  o'  the  whole  thing!  God  must  a-made  him  when  his 
heart  wras  pulsin'  hot  with  love  an'  the  lust  o'  creatin'  in- 
com-^ar-able  things;  an'  He  jest  saw  how  pretty  it  'ud 
be  to  dip  his  featherin'  into  the  blood  He  was  puttin'  in  his 
veins. 

"To  my  mind,  ain't  no  better  way  to  love  an'  worship 
God,  'an  to  protect  an'  'predate  these  fine  gifts  He's 
given  for  our  joy  an'  use.  Worshipin'  that  bird's  a  kind 
o'  religion  with  me.  Getting  the  beauty  from  the  sky, 
an'  the  trees,  an'  the  grass,  an'  the  water  'at  God  made,  is 
nothin'  but  doin'  Him  homage.  Whole  earth's  a  sanctu 
ary.  You  can  worship  from  sky  above  to  grass  under 
foot. 

"Course,  each  man  has  his  particular  altar.  Mine's 
in  that  cabin  up  at  the  bend  o'  the  river.  Maria  lives 

129 


e   §ong   of   tbe   CatDtnal 


there.  God  never  did  cleaner  work,  'an  when  He  made 
Maria.  Lovin'  her's  sacrament.  She's  so  clean,  an'  pure, 
an'  honest,  an'  big-hearted!  In  forty  year  I've  never 
jest  durst  brace  right  up  to  Maria  an'  try  to  put  in  words 
what  she  means  to  me.  Never  saw  nothin'  else  as  beau 
tiful,  or  as  good.  No  flower's  as  fragrant  an'  smelly  as 
her  hair  on  her  pillow.  Never  tapped  a  bee  tree  with 
honey  sweet  as  her  lips  a-twitchin'  with  a  love  quiver. 
Ain't  a  bird  long  the  ol'  Wabash  with  a  voice  up  to  hers. 
Love  o'  God  ain't  broader'n  her  kindness.  When  she's 
been  home  to  see  her  folks,  I've  been  so  hungry  for  her 
}at  I've  gone  to  her  closet  an'  kissed  the  hem  o'  her  skirts 
more'n  once.  I've  never  yet  dared  kiss  her  feet,  but 
I've  always  wanted  to.  I've  laid  out  'at  if  she  dies 
first,  I'll  do  it  then.  An'  Maria  'ud  cry  her  eyes  out  if 
you'd  a-hit  the  redbird.  Your  trappin's  look  like  you 
could  shoot.  I  guess  'twas  God  made  that  shot  fly  the 
mark.  I  guess — " 

"If  you  can  stop,  for  the  love  of  mercy  do  it!"  cried 
the  hunter.  His  face  was  a  sickly  white,  his  temples 
wet  with  sweat,  and  his  body  trembling.  "  I  can't  endure 
any  more.  I  don't  suppose  you  think  I've  any  human 
instincts  at  all;  but  I  have  a  few,  and  I  see  the  way  to 
arouse  more.  You  probably  won't  believe  me,  but  I'll 

130 


\ 


"tACH   MAN    HAS    HIS    PERTIC*LAR   ALTAR.      MINE'S    IN   THAT   CABIN 
AT   THE    BEND  O*  THE    RTVFR" 


^ong   of   t&e   Cardinal 


never  kill  another  innocent  harmless  thing;  and  I  will 
never  lie  again  so  long  as  I  live." 

He  leaned  his  gun  against  the  thorn  tree,  and  dropped 
the  remainder  of  his  hunter's  outfit  beside  it  on  the  ground. 

"I  don't  seem  a  fit  subject  to  'have  dominion/"  he  said. 
Til  leave  those  things  for  you;  and  thank  you  for  what 
you  have  done  for  me." 

There  was  a  crash  through  the  bushes,  a  leap  over  the 
fence,  and  Abram  and  the  Cardinal  were  alone. 

The  old  man  sat  down  suddenly  on  a  fallen  limb  of  the 
sycamore.  He  was  almost  dazed  with  astonishment. 
He  held  up  his  shaking  hands,  and  watched  them  won- 
deringly,  and  then  cupped  one  over  each  trembling  knee 
to  steady  himself.  He  outlined  his  dry  lips  with  the  tip 
of  his  tongue,  and  breathed  in  heavy  gusts.  He  glanced 
toward  the  thorn  tree. 

"Left  his  gun,"  he  hoarsely  whispered,  "an  it's  fine  as  a 
fiddle.  Lock,  stock,  an'  barrel  just  a-shinin'.  An'  all 
that  heap  o'  leather  fixin's.  Must  a-cost  a  lot  o'  money. 
Said  he  wasn't  fit  to  use  'em!  Lept  the  fence  like  a> 
panther,  an'  cut  dirt  across  the  corn  field.  An'  left  me  the 
gun!  Well!  Well!  WeU!  Wonder  what  I  said?  I 
must  a-been  almost  fierce." 

"  See  here  !    See  here  !  '  '  shrilled  the  Caniinal. 


Cfce   §ong   of   t&e   Cardinal 

Abram  looked  him  over  carefully.  He  was  quivering 
With  fear,  but  in  no  way  injured. 

"My!  but  that  was  a  close  call,  ol'  fellow,"  said  Abram. 
"  Minute  later,  an'  our  fun  'ud  a-been  over,  an'  the  sum 
mer  jest  spoiled.  Wonder  if  you  knew  what  it  meant, 
an'  if  you'll  be  gun-shy  after  this.  Land  knows,  I  hope 
so;  for  a  few  more  such  doses  'ull  jest  lay  me  up." 

He  gathered  himself  together  at  last,  set  the  gun  over 
the  fence,  and  climbing  after  it,  caught  Nancy,  who  had 
feasted  to  plethora  on  young  corn.  He  fastened  up  the 
trace-chains,  and  climbing  to  her  back,  laid  the  gun  across  ( 
his  lap  and  rode  to  the  barn.  He  attended  the  mare  with 
particular  solicitude,  and  bathed  his  face  and  hands  in  the 
water  trough  to  make  himself  a  little  more  presentable  to 
Maria.  He  started  to  the  house,  but  had  only  gone  a 
short  way  when  he  stopped,  and  after  standing  in  thought 
for  a  time,  turned  back  to  the  barn  and  gave  Nancy  an 
other  ear  of  corn. 

"After  all,  it  was  all  you,  ol'  girl,"  he  said,  patting 
her  shoulder,  "  I  never  on  earth  could  a-made  it  on  time 
afoot." 

He  was  so  tired  he  leaned  for  support  against  her,  for 
the  unusual  exertion  and  intense  excitement  were  telling  on 
sorely,  and  as  he  rested  he  confided  to  her:  "I  don't 


Cfte    @>ong    of   t&e    CarDina! 

know  as  I  ever  in  my  life  was  so  riled,  Nancy.  I'm  afraid 
I  was  a  little  mite  fierce." 

He  exhibited  the  gun,  and  told  the  story  very  soberly 
at  supper  time;  and  Maria  was  so  filled  with  solicitude 
for  him  and  the  bird,  and  so  indignant  at  the  act  of  the 
hunter,  that  she  never  said  a  word  about  Abram's  torn 
clothing  and  the  hours  of  patching  that  would  ensue. 
She  sat  looking  at  the  gun  and  thinking  intently  for  a  long 
time;  and  then  she  said  pityingly: 

"I  don't  know  jest  what  you  could  a-said  'at  'ud  make 
a  man  go  off  an'  leave  a  gun  like  that.  Poor  fellow!  I 
do  hope,  Abram,  you  didn't  come  down  on  him  too  awful 
strong.  Maybe  he  lost  his  mother  when  he  was  jest  a 
little  tyke,  an'  he  hasn't  had  much  teachin'." 

Abram  was  completely  worn  out,  and  went  early  to  bed. 
Far  in  the  night  Maria  felt  him  fiimbling  around  her  face 
in  an  effort  to  learn  if  she  were  covered;  and  as  he  drew 
the  sheet  over  her  shoulder  he  muttered  in  worn  and  sleepy 
tones :  "  I'm  afraid  they's  no  use  denyin'  it,  Maria,  I  was 
jest  mortal  fierce." 

In  the  sumac  the  frightened  little  mother  cardinal  was 
pressing  her  precious  babies  close  against  her  breast;  and 
all  through  the  night  she  kept  calling  to  her  mate,  "  Chook! 
Chook!"  and  was  satisfied  only  when  an  answering 


Cbc   ^ong   of   tbe   Cardinal 

"Chip!"  came.  As  for  the  Cardinal,  he  had  learned  a 
new  lesson.  He  had  not  been  under  fire  before.  Never 
again  would  he  trust  any  one  carrying  a  shining  thing  that 
belched  fire  and  smoke.  He  had  seen  the  hunter  coming, 
and  had  raced  home  to  defend  his  mate  and  babies,  thus 
making  a  brilliant  mark  of  himself;  and  as  he  would  not 
have  deserted  them,  only  the  arrival  of  the  farmer  had 
averted  a  tragedy  in  the  sumac.  He  did  not  learn  to  use 
caution  for  himself;  but  after  that,  if  a  gun  came  down 
the  shining  river,  he  sent  a  warning  "Chip!"  to  his  mate, 
telling  her  to  crouch  low  in  her  nest  and  keep  very  quiet, 
and  then,  in  broken  waves  of  flight,  and  with  chirp  and 
flutter,  he  exposed  himself  until  he  had  lured  danger  from 
his  beloved  ones. 

When  the  babies  grew  large  enough  for  their  mother 
to  leave  them  a  short  time,  she  assisted  in  food  hunting, 
and  the  Cardinal  was  not  so  busy.  He  then  could  find 
time  frequently  to  mount  to  the  top  of  the  dogwood,  and 
cry  to  the  world,  "See  here!  See  here!"  for  the  cardinal 
babies  were  splendid.  But  his  music  was  broken  inter 
mittent  vocalizing  now,  often  uttered  past  a  beakful  of 
food,  and  interspersed  with  spasmodic  "chips"  if  danger 
threatened  his  mate  and  nestlings. 

Despite  all  their  care,  it  was  not  so  very  long  until 

136 


e   ^ong    of   tljc    Cardinal 


trouble  came  to  the  sumac;  and  it  was  all  because  the 
first-born  was  plainly  greedy;  much  more  so  than  either 
his  little  brother  or  his  sister,  and  he  was  one  day  ahead  of 
them  in  strength.  He  always  pushed  himself  forward, 
cried  the  loudest  and  longest,  and  so  took  the  greater  part 
of  the  food  carried  to  the  nest;  and  one  day,  while  he  was 
still  quite  awkward  and  uncertain,  he  climbed  to  the  edge 
and  reached  so  far  that  he  fell.  He  rolled  down  the  river 
bank,  splash!  into  the  water;  and  a  hungry  old  pickerel, 
sunning  in  the  weeds,  finished  him  at  a  snap.  He  made  a 
morsel  so  fat,  sweet,  and  juicy  that  the  pickerel  lingered 
close  for  a  week,  waiting  to  see  if  there  would  be  any  more 
accidents. 

The  Cardinal,  hunting  grubs  in  the  corn  field,  heard  the 
frightened  cries  of  his  mate,  and  dashed  to  the  sumac  in 
time  to  see  the  poor  little  ball  of  brightly  tinted  feathers 
disappear  in  the  water  and  to  hear  the  splash  of  the  fish. 
He  called  in  helpless  panic  and  fluttered  over  the  spot. 
He  watched  and  waited  until  there  was  no  hope  of  the 
nestling  coming  up,  then  he  went  to  the  sumac  to  try  to 
comfort  his  mate.  She  could  not  be  convinced  that  her 
young  one  was  gone,  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  day  filled 
the  air  with  alarm  cries  and  notes  of  wailing. 

The  two  that  remained  were  surely  the  envy  of  Bird-- 


Cfie    @>ong    of    tfje    Cardinal 

land.  The  male  baby  was  a  perfect  copy  of  his  big  crim 
son  father,  only  his  little  coat  was  gray;  but  it  was  so 
highly  tinged  with  red  that  it  was  brilliant,  and  his  beak 
and  feet  were  really  red;  and  how  his  crest  did  flare,  and 
how  proud  and  important  he  felt,  when  he  found  he  could 
raise  and  lower  it  at  will.  His  sister  was  not  nearly  so 
bright  as  he,  and  she  was  almost  as  greedy  as  the  lost 
brother.  With  his  father's  chivalry  he  allowed  her  to 
crowd  in  and  take  the  most  of  the  seeds  and  berries,  so 
that  she  continually  appeared  as  if  she  could  swallow  no 
more,  yet  she  was  constantly  calling  for  food. 

She  took  the  first  flight,  being  so  greedy  she  forgot  to 
be  afraid,  and  actually  flew  to  a  neighbouring  thorn  tree 
to  meet  the  Cardinal,  coming  with  food,  before  she  real 
ized  what  she  had  done.  For  once  gluttony  had  its  proper 
reward.  She  not  only  missed  the  bite,  but  she  got  her 
little  self  mightily  well  scared.  With  popping  eyes  and 
fear-flattened  crest,  she  clung  to  the  thorn  limb,  shivering 
at  the  depths  below;  and  it  was  the  greatest  comfort  when 
her  brother  plucked  up  courage  and  came  sailing  across 
to  her.  But,  of  course,  she  could  not  be  expected  to  admit 
that.  When  she  saw  how  easily  he  did  it,  she  flared  her 
crest,  turned  her  head  indifferently,  and  inquired  if  he 
did  not  find  flying  a  very  easy  matter,  once  he  mustered 

138 


C6c    ^ong    of   tf)c    Cardinal 


courage  to  try  it;  and  she  made  him  very  much  ashamed 
indeed  because  he  had  allowed  her  to  be  the  first  to  leave 
the  nest.  From  the  thorn  tree  they  worked  their  way  to 
the  dead  sycamore;  but  there  the  lack  of  foliage  made 
them  so  conspicuous  that  their  mother  almost  went  into 
spasms  from  fright,  and  she  literally  drove  them  back  to 
the  sumac. 

The  Cardinal  was  so  inordinately  proud,  and  made  such 
a  brave  showing  of  teaching  them  to  fly,  bathe,  and  all  the 
other  things  necessary  for  young  birds  to  know,  that  it  was 
a  great  mercy  they  escaped  with  their  lives.  He  had 
mastered  many  lessons,  but  he  never  could  be  taught  how 
to  be  quiet  and  conceal  himself.  With  explosive  "chips" 
flaming  and  flashing,  he  met  dangers  that  sent  all  the 
other  birds  beside  the  shining  river  racing  to  cover.  Con 
cealment  he  scorned;  and  repose  he  never  knew. 

It  was  a  summer  full  of  rich  experience  for  the  Cardinal. 
After  these  first  babies  were  raised  and  had  flown,  two 
more  nests  were  built,  and  two  other  broods  flew  around 
the  sumac.  By  fall  the  Cardinal  was  the  father  of  a 
small  flock,  and  they  were  each  one  neat,  trim,  beautiful 
river  birds. 

He  had  lived  through  spring  with  its  perfumed  air,  pale 
flowers,  and  burning  heart  hunger.  He  had  known  sum- 

139 


C6e   %on$   of   t&e   Cardinal 

mer  in  its  golden  mood,  with  forests  pungent  with  spice- 
bush  and  sassafras;  festooned  with  wild  grape,  woodbine, 
and  bittersweet;  carpeted  with  velvet  moss  and  starry 
mandrake  peeping  from  beneath  green  shades;  the  never- 
ending  murmur  of  the  shining  river;  and  the  rich  fulfil 
ment  of  love's  fruition. 

Now  it  was  fall,  and  all  the  promises  of  spring  were  ac 
complished.  The  woods  were  glorious  in  autumnal  tints. 
There  were  ripened  red  haws,  black  haws,  and  wild  grapes 
only  waiting  for  severe  frosts,  nuts  rattling  down,  scurry 
ing  squirrels,  and  the  rabbits'  flash  of  gray  and  brown. 
The  waysides  were  bright  with  the  glory  of  goldenrod, 
and  royal  with  the  purple  of  asters  and  ironwort.  There 
was  the  rustle  of  falling  leaves,  the  flitting  of  velvety 
butterflies,  the  whir  of  wings  trained  southward,  and  the 
call  of  the  king  crow  gathering  his  followers. 

Then  to  the  Cardinal  came  the  intuition  that  it  was 
time  to  lead  his  family  to  the  orange  orchard.  One  day 
they  flamed  and  rioted  up  and  down  the  shining  river, 
raced  over  the  corn  field,  and  tilted  on  the  sumac.  The 
next,  a  black  frost  had  stripped  its  antlered  limbs.  Stark 
and  deserted  it  stood,  a  picture  of  loneliness. 

O  bird  of  wonderful  plumage  and  human-like  song! 
What  a  precious  thought  of  Divinity  to  create  such  beauty 

140 


HE    CLIMBED   TO  THE    EDGE   OF  THE    NEST  AND   REACHED   SO   FAR 
THAT    HE    FEI.I   " 


C&e   @>ong   of   t&e   Cardinal 

and  music  for  our  pleasure!  Brave  songster  of  the  flam 
ing  coat,  too  proud  to  hide  your  flashing  beauty,  too  fear-j 
less  to  be  cautious  of  the  many  dangers  that  beset  you^ 
from  the  top  of  the  morning  we  greet  you,  and  hail  you. 
King  of  Birdland,  at  your  imperious  command:  "See  here! 
See  here  I " 


• 


-• 


UC  SOUTHERN  REG  ONALj 


™  000 1  870  193     o 


